


maybe one day i'll fly next to you

by spinningincircles



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Skating, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29291175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinningincircles/pseuds/spinningincircles
Summary: Bobby clears his throat, standing in front of the roll-away white board, and gets started. Buck’s half paying attention, letting his eyes wander over the small crowd of skaters.There’s one face, though, that he doesn’t see, and for a minute, he’s hopeful.He’s gone, he moved, he went to work with Rafael in Lakewood or something, so I’ll only have to see him maybe four times a year instead of every goddamn day thankgod—The doors to the locker room burst open, andfuck.Because, nope, he’s still here. Windswept and out of breath and15 minutes late, yet somehow still oozing confidence and jackassery.Eddie Diaz. Olympic Bronze Medalist. Two time reigning World Champion. And the absolute bane of Buck’s existence.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley & Henrietta "Hen" Wilson, Evan "Buck" Buckley & Maddie Buckley, Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV), Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 74
Kudos: 137





	1. Preseason

**Author's Note:**

> this is, far and away, the most self indulgent thing i have ever written in my entire life
> 
> shouts to The Cursed Five for your constant encouragement and yelling at me to write. and shouts to literally everyone who has let me talk to them about this au for the past couple of months. she's here and i hope you love her as much as i do!
> 
> title from “o (fly on)” by coldplay

The sun is just rising when he gets to the rink, the early morning light streaming in through the high windows, making the ice glow. He’s the first one there, just like he planned, so he gets to take his time getting ready. He stretches a bit in the locker room before lacing up his skates and heading to the ice. Placing his guards on the boards, he takes a minute to just _look_ , relishing in the stillness, the quiet, the smooth surface of the untouched ice. He takes one step, two, and he’s off, gliding through the mirrored surface, carving his path as he goes.

Buck can’t remember a time when skating _wasn’t_ his entire life. He first put on skates at four, wobbling on the side of the rink while Maddie was in lessons. He started lessons of his own at six, and after that, he never stopped thinking about being on the ice. And he was _good_ , too — by eight he was competing in the regional circuit, already landing a handful of clean triples when most kids were still struggling with doubles. He qualified for his first nationals at 10, won gold in Juniors at 11, and by the time he qualified for Junior Grand Prix at 13, people already knew his name. They knew his “modern artistry” as they called it, his powerful jumps, and talked about him like he was someone worth watching out for once he made it to the senior level.

It helped that by then, Buck was already addicted to competition. He loved skating on its own — the power he felt when he jumped and flew across the ice, the beauty of well-executed spirals and step sequences — but nothing made him feel more alive than doing it in front of a crowd and a panel of judges. Landing each element perfectly sent a thrill through him that he never wanted to stop feeling, and seeing his scores, usually much higher than others, was something that never got boring. He wanted to be the best, was on his way to being the best, and those hazy dreams of an Olympic gold medal didn’t feel quite as hazy anymore.

For a while, at least. Until _he_ showed up.

But Buck doesn’t want to think about him right now, he just wants to enjoy the peace and quiet while he can. He’s not skating to anything in particular, just the music in his head taking him wherever feels right. He’s so lost in it, trying to nail the bit of choreo he just made up, that he doesn’t even notice Bobby until he hears him clapping from the benches. 

“Looks good, Buck. Talk to Hen, I think that would work in your new short.”

“Thanks Bobby,” Buck says, making his way to the boards. Bobby hands him his guards and his water bottle, heading back towards the locker room.

“Come on, we’re just about to get started.”

Bobby and Athena have had this beginning of the season meeting for as long as Buck has been at their club. They go over assignments for Grand Prix and the Challenger series, figure out general training schedules, and do a “goal setting session” for what they want to accomplish this season. 

Bobby calls it a “family meeting”, which is cute but also annoying. Skating isn’t a team sport. Families don’t win medals. And that’s all Buck wants to accomplish every season until he retires: he wants to win.

He sits down on a bench next to Maddie, who’s deep in conversation with Athena about her and Chimney’s programs, he’s sure. She’s been planning them since Worlds, so they’re probably fully choreographed and ready for competition. The Buckleys are nothing if not overachievers.

Bobby clears his throat, standing in front of the roll-away white board, and gets started. Buck’s half paying attention — it’s the fifth time he’s heard the “athletes aren’t born, they’re made” speech, he gets the point — letting his eyes wander over the small crowd of skaters. Chim’s on Athena’s other side, nodding along with Bobby. May and Hen are standing along the lockers, whispering quietly. The Juniors kids are sitting on the floor, in awe of their coach as he talks about hard work and victory. Buck gets it, he’s still a little in awe of Bobby himself, but not so much of his recycled speeches.

There’s one face, though, that he _doesn’t_ see, and for a minute, he’s hopeful. _He’s gone, he moved, he went to work with Rafael in Lakewood or something, so I’ll only have to see him maybe four times a year instead of every goddamn day thank_ god—

The doors to the locker room burst open, and _fuck_. 

Because, nope, he’s still here. Windswept and out of breath and _15 minutes late_ , yet somehow still oozing confidence and jackassery.

Eddie Diaz. Olympic Bronze Medalist. Two time reigning World Champion. And the absolute bane of Buck’s existence.

Bobby doesn’t even say anything, just waves him in and keeps talking. If Buck had been that late, even if it was for a good reason, he would have had his ass handed to him in front of everyone _and_ would’ve had to run laps or something after his ice time. But of _course_ , Eddie gets a pass.

Whatever.

Buck doesn’t pay much attention to the rest of the meeting, too busy trying to keep himself from glaring at Eddie every 20 seconds. He tunes in enough to hear that they’ll both be going to Skate America and NHK because _of course they are_ and spends the rest of the meeting trying to keep his blood pressure down. When it’s finally over, he makes his way through the crowd to get back to the ice for his first session with Bobby. He’s scrolling through his phone, trying to find his music, when he feels someone walk over and join him on the bench. He looks over, and lo and behold— 

“Eddie,” he says with what he hopes is a low level of contempt.

“Buck,” Eddie responds, looking over and nodding as he laces up his skates. “Good summer?”

“Fine.”

“Ready for the season?”

“Always am.”

Eddie smiles, easy and charming, and Buck hates his fucking guts. He nods at him again as he heads onto the ice, and Buck gives into the temptation to thump his head against boards a few times.

It’s going to be a _very_ long year.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck has hated Eddie since they were 16 years old.

Okay, maybe “hate” is a little strong, but whatever emotion it is when just looking at a person makes you feel like smoke is coming out of your ears, that’s how he feels. 

It was his first season in Seniors, and he had been doing better than he expected in the first half — a silver and a bronze at his Grand Prixs, and fifth at the Grand Prix Final. Nowhere near perfect or the best in the world, but he was the best US men’s skater and poised to win gold at Nationals. He hadn’t even heard the name “Eddie Diaz” until he got to Nats, and even then it was just whispers — some small town kid from Texas who was landing clean quadruple jumps at a time when some of the highest ranked skaters couldn’t. Buck was working on them — his coach kept harping on how important they’d be to the sport one day — but he’d hit a growth spurt just before the beginning of the season, so he was still getting used to his new center of gravity. 

But the rumors were true, Buck saw it with his own eyes at a practice session. He remembers the mix of awe and dread as he watched Eddie jump — the thoughts of _damn I want to be as good as this kid_ and _he’s about to take everything from me_.

Eddie won Nats by about 30 points. Buck came in second. The US only had one spot at both Four Continents and Worlds, and Eddie got picked for both. Something about having “a better chance with his abilities and consistency in the international field” or some other bullshit. 

He didn’t podium at either. Buck felt shamelessly vindicated.

Over the next three years, they became perfect foils of each other — Buck with good jumps but better artistic expression and connection to the music, Eddie a little stiff but a blur of height and speed in the air. They flip-flopped at competitions — Buck got silver, Eddie got gold. Buck got gold, Eddie got bronze. Nats turned into a yearly showdown, the media always highlighting their “friendly rivalry”. Buck must have been a better actor than he thought if he was coming across as “friendly”.

He won Nats right before the Olympics, pretty much guaranteeing his chances of getting named to the Olympic Team. Two days before the announcement, he broke his leg on a bad landing and felt his dreams shatter along with the bone. 

Eddie went instead. He placed third, higher than any US man had placed in 12 years. 

Buck watched it all from his couch, unsure if he’d ever be able to skate again.

Fast forward three seasons, and while Buck is still struggling to get his consistent jumps back, Eddie keeps skyrocketing. He hasn’t lost a major competition in two years and is the overwhelming favorite to win the gold medal in Beijing. It was bad enough to hear about it from other skaters or see at competitions, but then Eddie moved to Bobby and Athena’s club a year ago, so now Buck gets to suffer through first hand observation.

It simultaneously pushes him harder and makes him want to die.

Which is the exact feeling he has right now as he watches Eddie land a perfect quad toe triple toe combo. He tried the same combo yesterday and landed flat on his ass, so now he just wants to practice it over and over until it’s perfect and he can rub it in Eddie’s smug face. _See, you’re not the only one who can do it. You’re not_ that _special._

“You better watch how hard you’re frowning, Buckaroo, you’re gonna get wrinkles,” Hen says as she walks over to him. She follows his line of sight, and her expression turns from vaguely worried to exasperated. “Staring that hard at Eddie isn’t gonna make him fall.”

“It could,” he says. “Maybe I have untapped psychic powers that are just waiting to come out.”

She gives him a flat look. “Sure, and I’m the long lost crown princess of a small European country. Can we go over your free instead of fantasizing about stupid things, please?”

“Fine, fine,” Buck says, finally turning away from Eddie as he steps on the ice.

He loves his programs this season — he usually doesn’t get used to them for a few months, but this time around, he already feels connected. His short is more modern, melancholic and gritty, while his free is more classic, hopeful, makes him feel like he’s floating rather than skating. He’s always been good at choreography — either taking it and making it his own or creating steps himself — and he feels like both really highlight his talents. Plus Hen, being the amazing choreographer and friend that she is, let him have a lot more input this time around, so it all feels more authentic. He likes to think that no matter what happens, he’ll be proud of whatever he puts out with these pieces.

They work on his free for an hour, and he stays an extra two to work on his short and his jumps on his own. By the time he leaves, the sun has set, his legs are already sore, and he has a lovely bruise blossoming on his right thigh from falling on his quad flip three times in a row.

It’s all worth it, though. Because as much as he _wants_ to be happy with his programs no matter what, he knows he won’t be unless they get him to the top of that podium, hearing the national anthem play with a gold medal around his neck.

~~~~~~~~~~

He’s floating away in his dream, higher and higher like a runaway helium balloon. He can see the whole world below him, spread out and endless, rolling hills and forests and oceans. He wonders if he’ll ever come back down, or if he’ll just keep moving up and up, into the atmosphere, into space, into a different universe. He thinks that might not be so bad.

Suddenly, he’s falling, plummeting back down to Earth like an asteroid. He’s racing and racing towards the ground, bracing for impact, for everything in his body to break, he’s falling and falling faster and faster—

He wakes with a yell, covered in sweat, his leg twinging. He takes a few minutes to breathe and get his heart rate back down, but even then, he’s still shaking.

He looks at the clock. 4:30am. He could go back to sleep — he doesn’t have practice until noon. 

Except his mind is churning now with the phantom memory of _breaking_ . The feeling of going from standing to not being able to move, pain radiating from his leg into every other part of his body. The panic, not just for his body, but for his whole _life_ and what it could turn into. What he could lose.

He lays there for another half an hour, but the memories just keep burning. So, he does what he always does when he needs to shut his mind off.

He goes to the rink.

First practice isn’t until 8am, so he uses his keys to unlock the back door. Chuck, the janitor, was sick of waiting two extra hours to lock up after him, so he gave him his own set after his first season. Buck gives him a giant cookie bouquet for Christmas every year in return.

He feels better after just a few laps around the ice. The chill that bites as he speeds up his pace, the white noise of his blades in the ice, it all settles him like nothing else. He speeds up still, setting up for a triple Salchow — easy, almost second nature, a jump he could do in his sleep. He pushes off, but as soon as he’s airborne, something jolts through him, makes his stomach turn over. He pops the jump to a single and lands on the wrong edge, losing his balance and sprawling across the ice on his back. He stays there, staring up at the lights, letting the cold leech in through his sweatshirt. 

Almost four years later, and this is _still_ happening. He scares himself out of jumps like he expects each one to end badly, even though he knows — logically, statistically knows — that it’s unlikely. 

And yet. Here he is. On his back. After another failure.

He’s too tired to feel pissed or frustrated like he usually does, so he’s just resigned. Today is not the day for jumps. That’s just how it is.

He gets up finally and skates over to his bag, digs his headphones out and queues up his short program music. He works through the step sequences, over and over, making little tweaks as necessary, thinking through where the judges could take off points until it’s perfect. The repetition quiets the last of his racing thoughts, and he finally feels like himself again. 

He’s moving into his last spin when he sees movement out of the corner of his eye. He slows down enough to recognize Eddie, inching towards the locker room like he’s trying not to be seen.

Buck stops, staring Eddie down. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Eddie freezes eyes wide, looking suspiciously guilty. He walks forward, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I have an 8am and wanted to beat traffic on my way in. The back door was open when I got here, and I saw the lights on, so I—” he swallows, looking anywhere but Buck’s face. There’s a blush crawling up his neck, and he looks _nervous_.

_Nervous like he just got caught somewhere he shouldn’t be_ , Buck thinks. He narrows his eyes as he checks his watch — it’s 7:00. He gets wanting to beat traffic, but a whole _hour_?

He quickly makes his way off the ice, grabbing his bag from the bench. “Well, I’m done for now, it’s all yours.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says quietly. Buck’s just about through the door when he hears his name. He turns back to Eddie, his blush now all the way up to his hairline.

“You looked good out there. Can’t wait to see it in competition.”

Buck freezes, processing the compliment. A _compliment_. From Eddie. They hardly talk unless they have to, and even then it’s never friendly. Cordial, sure, but not friendly.

So why is he being so nice now?

Buck just narrows his eyes again before stalking off to the lockers.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Mads, I really think he’s gonna pull a Tonya Harding on me.”

She looks at him over her wine glass, unimpressed. “Yeah, because that worked out so well for Tonya the first time.”

“I’m serious!” he says, taking a sip from his own glass. Neither of them drink during the season, so they’re taking full advantage of their weekly wine nights while they can. Buck’s not a lightweight by any means, but two glasses in and he _is_ starting to feel a little fuzzy. And a little crazy, trying to figure out what Eddie was up to this morning. “You haven’t seen any weird guys lurking around have you? You’d tell me if you did, right?”

Maddie rolls her eyes. “You sound insane.”

“I’m not insane if I’m _right_. Why else would he be watching me?”

“We all watch each other, Buck! He was watching Chim and me yesterday too while he was on break. He even said our twizzles were really in sync.”

“You better watch your back too, maybe he’s trying to take the whole club out.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” she says, pouring another, very full glass.

“He’s just so— he’s—”

“Annoyingly perfect? Obnoxiously talented? I know, Buck, you only bring it up every 15 minutes.”

Buck deflates at that. “I don’t— it’s not _that_ often.” Sure, he rants about how clean Eddie’s edges are and how good his quad flip is, but that’s because it’s so _irritating_ . Buck works just as hard as Eddie, and he _knows_ he’s not flawless. But somehow, Eddie is. _Stupidly_ flawless and perfect and— 

“I’m just saying,” she says, squeezing his hand across the table and bringing him back to the conversation. She pours him another generous glass, too. “This energy is great, but it would probably be better to put more of it into practice and less of it into worrying about _one_ of your competitors. I know you’re nervous about this season, but you can’t let that turn into this weird paranoia. Don’t let it take your head out of the game.”

He sits back and sighs. She’s right, of course. She always is.

He doesn’t tell her that, though. Just takes a gulp of wine and tries not to think about Eddie’s annoyingly perfect _anything_. 

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a news truck parked outside the rink when he gets in the next morning, and he spends about 15 minutes contemplating just going home and telling Bobby he’s sick. 

The lead reporter — Taylor, he thinks — claims they’re here to do a profile on the club and how they’re preparing for the Olympics, but he knows they’re mostly here for Eddie. They want any and all sound bites they can get from him to use over and over and over in coverage leading up to Beijing. Quotes about hard work and following his dreams that they can play over footage of him skating and smiling after winning again. Buck’s already annoyed at the prospect of seeing them on NBC Sports for the next six months.

To their credit, they do film everyone practicing at some point. They get Maddie and Chim doing their new rotational lift, May landing her triple lutz that she’s been working on for months, and Buck’s nearly perfect (if he does say so himself) flying camel spin. So at least they have good footage of him, not just random shots in the background of Eddie’s. Maybe he’ll even get his own little promo. 

Bobby calls him into his office after lunch, where the news crew has set up an interview space. He wasn’t expecting to talk to anyone — maybe a quick question at the boards, but nothing _this_ fancy. He sits in one of the chairs as someone puts powder on his face and tries to do something with his hair. Taylor sits down across from him, a 1000-watt smile turned on as the cameras start rolling.

“So, Evan. Or do you prefer Buck?”

“Evan’s fine.” As much as he hates his first name, it’s how the general public knows him. Buck is reserved for friends and family.

_And Eddie_ , an annoying voice reminds him. Fine, friends and family and...competitors.

“You came in second at Nationals and Four Continents last year, and fourth at Worlds. How do you feel about the momentum going into this Olympic season?”

“Every season is different,” he says as diplomatically as possible. These reporters always want drama, someone slipping up and bragging about themselves when they have no right to. He’s not wrong — every season _is_ different. No matter who’s expected to win or who has the most medals, you never know how everything will play out. “We haven’t had a men’s field this strong in a while, so it’ll be interesting to see what happens. But I’m as prepared as I can be at this point.”

“You were injured right before the last Olympics. Do you see this year as a bit of redemption for yourself?”

He feels his smile go tight. “It’s every kid’s dream to go to the Games. It’s certainly still mine. I’m ready to do whatever I can to make that dream come true.”

“Eddie Diaz has been with your club for just over a year now. What’s it like training with him?”

_There it is_ , he thinks. He’s surprised she asked so many questions about him before getting to Eddie. The first responses he thinks of are all variations of _he sucks and I can’t stand the sight of him_ , but he knows any petty answers will be worse for him personally than anyone else. So, as much as it pains him, he settles on the nicest version of the truth he can muster.

“Eddie’s an amazing skater,” he says, surprising himself at how genuine he sounds. “He’s been paving new paths in the sport, and he’s pushed everyone to be better to try and get on his level, myself included. He definitely brings that same energy to the club.”

“Do you think you can beat him this year?”

_Wow, she’s not holding any punches._

He shrugs, smiling through the sudden burst of anxiety in his veins. “We’ll just have to wait and see.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

Despite his less than fiery interview, Taylor asks him what he’s doing after practice right before they leave. It’s easy enough to turn her down — he’s got an early PT appointment in the morning, plus the way she’s been looking at him all day is making him itchy. He can tell she only sees him as an object — as a means to get her name on a lead story or a body to keep her bed warm or both — and that’s just not something he’s interested in. Maybe a few years ago, when sex was a way for him to forget about the potential end of his career, but not now.

As nonchalant as he was in the interview, this season really could make or break him. 

He can’t afford any distractions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell about these boys and/or figure skating on [tumblr](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/) with me!! this updates every monday!!
> 
> Programs:
> 
> Buck's [short program](https://youtu.be/naEncCHKeLc) and [free skate](https://youtu.be/pCoTDb9Pd8A)
> 
> Eddie's [short program and free skate](https://youtu.be/OjCpS6hOdWc)
> 
> May's [short program](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0W7wHqwUuZc) and [free skate](https://youtu.be/sRTy4mcJjaw)
> 
> Maddie and Chim's [rhythm dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhqoB29-5_0) and [free dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6r1e74OFGc)


	2. Autumn Classic International

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> autumn classic is a challenger series competition held by skate canada every year. since it's a level down from the grand prix series and is one of the first competitions of the year, some top level skaters use it as a dress rehearsal for the rest of the season.

Autumn Classic doesn’t mean anything, really — the USFSA won’t look at it when considering Olympic spots — but it’s Buck’s favorite competition of the year. It’s his first chance to see new programs, size up competition, gauge where he thinks he’ll be landing this season. It’s also the first buzz of nerves and adrenaline that he feels after six months of break, and it’s a high he keeps chasing all season.

It’s a long flight to Toronto plus time changes, so he’s exhausted by the time they get to the hotel. He blearily accepts his room key from Bobby as he heads to the elevator, leaning heavily against the wall on the short ride up. He’s already dreaming about falling into bed as he opens the door, expecting to see Chimney as usual, but instead sees Eddie, standing in the middle of the room, scrolling through his phone. He looks up as the door shuts behind Buck and gives him a small smile.

“I, uh, didn’t know which bed you wanted, so I figured I’d wait until you got here.”

Buck, brain still half-offline, just looks at him for a minute before saying, “You’re not Chimney.”

Eddie lets out a surprised laugh, “No, not last time I checked. Bobby said he volunteered to chaperone the Juniors floor so he gave him a single. Guess that means you’re stuck with me.”

Buck makes a mental note to hunt Chimney down in the morning, but right now all he wants to do is sleep so he’s at least somewhat rested for practice at the asscrack of dawn.

“This one’s fine,” he says, dropping his bag at the foot of the closest bed before belly flopping onto it. He already feels himself drifting off as Eddie rifles through his own bag.

“Mind if I shower first?” he asks. Buck waves him a “yes” without moving the rest of his body. He thinks he hears a snort before the bathroom door closes and the shower turns on. The drone of the water almost puts him to sleep again, but he gets up with a groan instead, propping himself against the headboard while he waits. He _could_ just say fuck it and go right to bed, but he’s been in three different airports today and feels disgusting, and he’d rather not wake up at 4am to shower in the morning.

He’s scrolling through the schedule Bobby emailed, figuring out the absolute latest he can set his alarm for, when the bathroom door opens again, steam pouring into the room. Eddie emerges, towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water still falling down his flushed chest and shoulders, and Buck feels like he swallowed his tongue. Because, yes, he might hate the guy, but he also has _eyes_. Eyes that are currently taking in miles of skin and lean muscle so perfect it looks like he’s carved out of marble. His back muscles ripple as he leans over to grab a shirt from his bag before going back into the bathroom, and Buck actually feels his mouth water. 

He hasn’t had sex in...a while. Two and a half seasons, to be exact. He hasn’t felt _this_ attracted to someone so quickly in even longer. Since his leg healed, his sole focus has been skating — practicing day in and day out to get his jumps consistent, his skating skills back up to speed. And since he’s still having issues, he hasn’t even let sex or relationships cross his mind, didn’t want to lose focus. Apparently, he was a lot more focused than he thought he was, if it prevented him from noticing all _this_.

That lust — so intense he still feels it lingering in his gut — quickly turns into familiar irritation though, because of _course_ , along with being a world class skater, Eddie also looks like a goddamn supermodel. Buck knows he’s no slouch himself, but this is a stupid new level. A distracting new level, and distractions are not something Buck needs right now.

Plus, he’d never sleep with Eddie anyway. He _hates_ him.

The bathroom door opens again, and this time Eddie is, thankfully, fully clothed. “All yours,” he says, jerking his head toward the door as he sits down on his bed. 

Buck nods, quickly grabbing his things and shutting the door behind him. He turns the shower to cold and gets in immediately, the shock of it waking him up and burning any lasting arousal out of him. He closes his eyes, trying to forget Eddie’s _everything_ and focus instead on the things he needs to work on at practice tomorrow, where he put his KT tape, literally _anything else_.

He’s better by the time he’s done, just at the usual baseline of annoyance he’s always at where Eddie’s concerned. Eddie’s still awake, TV quietly playing a rerun of some sitcom, when Buck comes back and falls into his bed. He ignores Eddie as much as he can as he texts Maddie and sets his alarm, though he swears he feels his eyes on him when he’s not looking. Exhaustion finally takes over as he turns off his lamp, and he’s asleep as soon as he flips to his side. 

He dreams he’s falling again, but this time, someone with golden skin and a blinding smile is falling with him.

~~~~~~~~~~

The first half of the week goes by in a blur — three days of wake up, skate, eat, skate, sleep, repeat — and before he knows it, it’s short program day. He wakes up to Eddie’s alarm — they had to be up at the same time anyway — and takes a minute to just lay in bed, feel the butterflies already forming in his stomach, excitement and anticipation lighting up every nerve ending.

Rooming with Eddie has been...not terrible, so far. He’s clean, quiet, doesn’t hog the bathroom. The second night, after long practices that left them physically drained but mentally wide awake, they even watched a movie together — some made-for-TV psychological thriller that started as background noise but quickly turned into them coming up with the most ridiculous ways for the movie to end, and Buck actually getting it right.

It’s...weird. Buck has spent most of the last year actively avoiding Eddie, but now that the cold shoulder he usually gives him has thawed out a little bit, it’s not so bad. He’s still irritatingly perfect on multiple fronts, but he can at least hold a conversation with him now.

They leave the room together, grabbing a quick breakfast at the hotel before heading to their last practice. It’s silent, each of them in their own heads about when they need to get ready, but it’s not awkward. Buck would almost call it comfortable.

The practice rink is as chaotic as expected by the time they arrive. All 15 competitors plus coaches and choreographers are there, most in the stands stretching and warming up, watching the first group run their programs on the ice. There’s a small group of reporters as well, snagging people when they can for quotes and comments. They scan the crowd for Bobby, finally see him waving from the spot he and Hen secured at the far end of the stands. They make their way across to them, smiling and waving at familiar faces as they go. It feels forced for Buck, at least — making nice despite the fact that they’re all secretly hoping everyone else will tear or bruise something bad enough that they’ll have to withdraw. Eddie, on the other hand, is genuinely _warm_ to everyone, friendly slaps on backs and laughs at jokes that don’t have a hint of fakeness. He’s _nice_ , even to people he _has_ to know cheer a little bit every time he falls.

Buck resists the urge to roll his eyes, but just barely.

They finally make it to Bobby and Hen and start warming up. Buck takes real stock of the crowd now as he stretches his hamstrings, noting costumes, levels of panic he can see on faces, who’s skating to what music as it loops through the sound system. Overall, he feels good — at a smaller competition like this, he’s usually one of the strongest technically and artistically, and this time feels no different. 

Their group gets called to the ice, and they each have one more chance to run through their program. Buck has two quads planned for his three required jumps, and he lands both of them cleanly and fully rotated. It’s still ambitious, given his consistency — you never know what will happen in front of the judges — but as long as he stays out of his own way, out of his head, he’ll be just fine.

He hopes.

When their time is up, Buck packs his things up quickly, waving to Bobby, Hen, and Eddie as he hustles to the green room to drop off his stuff before heading to the main rink. The first group for the rhythm dance is just starting their warm-up as he finds May in the stands, sliding into the seat next to her. It’s not often that their segments are spread out enough that they can all watch each other compete, but Buck and May always take full advantage to cheer on Maddie and Chim and judge everybody else.

“Did I miss anything?” he asks.

She shakes her head, eyes on the ice. “The Polish team almost collided with one of the Canadian teams, but it looked like an accident.”

“I don’t know, those Canadians _love_ to cut it close during warm-ups, they think it scares the other teams.” 

“They tried it at Worlds and got yelled at pretty bad, I don’t think they’d try it again so soon.” Buck whips his head over just as Eddie sits down on his other side, like he’s part of their little cheer squad too. 

“What are you doing here?” Buck asks, tone a little more accusatory than he wanted.

Eddie just shrugs. “I usually stand in the back and watch, but I saw you guys and figured I’d join,” he says, meeting Buck’s eye. “If that’s okay with you?”

May elbows Buck in the ribs as she turns to Eddie herself. “Of course it’s okay, as long as you tell me everything that went down with that team at Worlds.”

Eddie smiles as he launches into the story. It takes Buck’s brain a minute to catch up with Eddie being _sociable_ and _funny_ , not hiding in the green room and ignoring everyone like he always assumed he did. They all fall into an easy banter as the first team begins their program, and by the end of the first group, they’re having to stifle their laughter and commentary as the people around them shoot dirty looks their way. 

Their cheers are the loudest when Chim and Maddie are announced during the warm-up, and again when they start their program. Buck loves watching Maddie skate — she’s the reason he got into the sport in the first place, and the way she looks so graceful and effortless is something he never gets tired of seeing. Their tango is smoldering, easily covering the ice and drawing the audience in, and their group isn’t the only one giving a standing ovation at the end. They take first place by a good margin, Buck and Eddie letting out matching wolf whistles as their scores are announced. 

Buck never would have imagined being here, cheering on his sister with the guy he’s hated for longer than he can remember, but now that he _is_ here, it’s...nice. Much nicer than he expected. He actually likes hearing Eddie’s opinions on lifts and spins, likes hearing him laugh at his jokes, likes the feeling of their arms brushing against each other in the cramped stadium seating…

Yeah. Nice. Weird and a complete upset of his world view up until the beginning of the week, but nice nonetheless.

~~~~~~~~~~

He may be sitting in the kiss and cry, but Buck still feels like he’s flying. He landed both quads, including his quad loop which is chronically underrotated, and nailed every step and spin. The audience was thunderous when he finished, and he almost wanted to cry because it really felt like the _beginning_ — the beginning of his redemption, the beginning of chiseling his name into the record books, the beginning of finally achieving everything he’d dreamed of.

He is, of course, miles and miles ahead of himself, but that doesn’t stop an ember of hope glowing brightly in his mind as he gets his score — first place, 20 points above second. Bobby squeezes his shoulders, shaking them in excitement, and he stands and waves to the crowd. They’re just making their way to the green room as Eddie’s name is announced, and rather than avoiding watching himself get knocked to second, he stops just outside the exit and turns back towards the ice.

He’s seen Eddie’s short a million times in practice — usually watching against his better judgement to see if he screws up — but watching it in full in a competition is a completely different experience. The opening notes to “Dust in the Wind” start playing, and Buck watches Eddie’s whole demeanor change, swears he sees his mind locking into all he has to accomplish in the next two minutes and 40 seconds. Pundits always describe his skating as “classic but refreshing”, and Buck is more than inclined to agree. Eddie possesses all the charm and grace of old school skaters, but manages to put his own spin on it, making it feel like something no one’s ever done before. Buck’s a little in awe, if he’s honest, and watching Eddie’s nearly perfect program this time doesn’t fill him with the usual annoyance or ill-placed rage, it makes him feel...something. He can’t quite put a name on it, but he knows it’s a good feeling.

He’s inclined to blame that on the high he’s still feeling from his own skate, but part of him also knows that that’s not the case.

Eddie does knock him into second, but only by five points. There’s a pang of bitterness, but it’s dull, because five points is _nothing_. Five points is one perfect jump, one spin combo, one seamless step sequence. It’s not insurmountable. And even if the gap were bigger, Buck would be hard pressed to find any flaws in Eddie’s program anyway.

The pundits don’t lie. He’s incredible. And _maybe_ Buck is starting to appreciate it.

The rest of the day passes in snapshots: pressers, watching May win gold in the ladies’ event, dinner with the team that was overflowing with excitement tinged with nerves about free skates the next day. He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, distinctly _not_ thinking about how he and Eddie sat shoulder to knee at dinner, or how Eddie’s eyes glowed almost golden in the low lighting of the restaurant, or how crushed he might be if he doesn’t win tomorrow.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s skating last, which means he’s going to be nauseous for the next two hours while he watches everyone else go. He considers just putting his headphones on and ignoring everything, going in blind to the scores, but he can’t. He has to know where he stands, his margin for error, how much perfection is needed.

He alternates between watching the first group on the TVs in the green room and going through every possible scenario of him screwing up and how he’ll fix it mid skate. Eventually, he’s just picturing himself falling on every jump, over and over, placing last and going home a loser before the season even officially starts.

He’s not sure if it’s doing more harm than good, preparing him for success or failure, but they’re announcing the second warm up group, so it looks like he’s about to find out.

Eddie goes right before him, because the universe _really_ wanted to test the strength of his stomach, apparently. Buck always loves “Hallelujah” programs, but Eddie’s is, of course, on a completely different level. He puts every emotion — the anguish, the uncertainty, the faint hope — into his movements, and it pulls at Buck’s heart so hard he’s afraid a blood vessel will snap. He’s so enthralled that he almost doesn’t notice that Eddie was _supposed_ to do a quad toe on his last jumping pass.

But he doesn’t. 

He triples it, losing him five base points.

Buck feels bad (which is...new), but he also feels a surge of hope buzzing in every bone.

Does that make him a bad person?

He doesn’t have time to process that as Eddie’s scores are announced and he moves into first place. He stands and waves at the crowd from the kiss and cry, smiling widely and looking genuinely _pleased_. Maybe he didn’t know he messed up? Maybe he’s still in blissful ignorance, will stay that way until he looks at his protocols? That’s the only thing that makes sense to Buck — he’s aware of every mistake as soon as it happens, and even minor ones send him right off the rails, no amount of points able to bring him back for days.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, squeezing as it passes. He meets Eddie’s eyes, and that genuine smile is still there, directed him now.

“Good luck out there,” Eddie says, and Buck blames the flutter in his heart and flush on his cheeks purely on adrenaline and nerves.

The audience cheers as he skates to center ice, and he sees Maddie and Chim, still wearing their silver medals, near the top of the stands. He takes a deep breath as he stands in his opening pose, letting the crowd, the noise, the worry, everything wash away. _This_ is all that matters, these next four minutes that could define the rest of his season, the rest of his path to the Olympic podium. Maybe it’s too much pressure for a preseason competition, but Buck’s been fighting for it, clawing his way through for the past four years, and a strong start is exactly what he needs to convince himself and every other coach, analyst, and skater, that he is here to _win_.

The music starts, and everything just _clicks_ , like the notes are flowing through him while he moves, carrying him along. Every jump is clean and balanced, every spin is fast and poised. The music itself is about birds, flying through and away as quickly as they came, and that’s exactly how Buck feels. Like if he jumps high enough, he’ll float away like he does in his dreams, but this time, it’s not scary. There’s no jolts to his brain while he jumps, pulling him carelessly to the ground, and he takes every one with a bit of gratitude, knowing how easily he could second guess himself and make it all come crashing down around him, figuratively and literally. But there’s none of that today, just confidence and precision and _joy_ that he only ever gets at moments like these. He still feels like he’s flying as he stops in his final pose, audience on their feet around him.

If he could, he’d bottle this sound and take it with him everywhere, have it follow him through Grand Prix, through Nats, all the way to Beijing. If this is the way the season is _starting_ , he feels like he can’t go anywhere but up.

 _Or anywhere but down_ , a terrible voice whispers. Luckily, it’s drowned out with the crowd before it burrows too deep.

Bobby is all smiles when he comes off the ice, hugging him and slapping his back as they sit in the kiss and cry. He’s just catching his breath as they announce his score — first place, 9.5 points above Eddie. He wishes the gap had been a little bigger, but he’ll take what he can get. He waves at the crowd as they roar again, but he doesn’t have long to bask in it all before he’s whisked away for the medal ceremony.

It’s short, thankfully — no fanfare, just the president of Skate Canada and an ISU official handing out the flowers and medals. Buck skates out as his name is announced, taking his place on the highest podium between the bronze medalist from Japan and Eddie. Eddie beams at him, that same blindingly earnest smile, and Buck can’t help but smile back.

He gets a little misty when they play the national anthem. It’s not so much the song itself, but the accomplishment it represents, the fact that his blood, sweat, and tears were all for _something_. 

Eddie falls in step with him as they make their way to the presser, shoulders brushing in that casual way they’ve made a habit this past week. Buck doesn’t know if they’re friends just yet, isn’t sure if a week is long enough to shed a decade of bad feelings, but he _does_ know that there’s something about Eddie that keeps drawing him in, makes him want to dig past the annoyingly perfect exterior and figure out what’s going on inside. Is he always this positive and friendly? What makes him snap? He’s spent years trying to think as little about Eddie as possible, but it’s been harder and harder to do, and Buck doesn’t really want to fight it anymore. It was taking up too much energy, and he has bigger things to worry about.

“Congrats, man, you looked great out there,” Eddie says, squeezing his shoulder again. This time, Buck squeezes back.

“Thanks, so did you. Your triple axel was so perfect it literally looked computer generated.” Eddie laughs, sharp and bright, and something in Buck wants to keep hearing that sound as often as he can.

There aren’t many reporters, but they ask all the same questions — how did they feel about their performance, what are they looking to improve, how do they feel about the other competitors, blah blah blah. As they’re given the two minute warning, the last reporter stands, pointing her microphone towards Buck.

“Evan, you really started this season with a bang. Do you think you’ll be able to keep coming out on top?”

 _Yes_ , he thinks automatically. _I can and I will_.

 _Maybe,_ says the whisper again, _or maybe you won’t_.

“Anything could happen,” he says, a phrase he has a feeling he’ll be repeating again and again, “but I’ll keep fighting no matter what.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at/with me on [tumblr!](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Programs:
> 
> Buck's [short program](https://youtu.be/naEncCHKeLc) and [free skate](https://youtu.be/pCoTDb9Pd8A)
> 
> Eddie's [short program and free skate](https://youtu.be/OjCpS6hOdWc)
> 
> May's [short program](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0W7wHqwUuZc) and [free skate](https://youtu.be/sRTy4mcJjaw)
> 
> Maddie and Chim's [rhythm dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhqoB29-5_0) and [free dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6r1e74OFGc)


	3. ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating - Skate America

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> skate america is (usually) the first competition of the grand prix circuit and the kickoff for the new season
> 
> also, the buckleys have entered the chat

The two weeks before Skate America breeze by, every hour filled with skating or conditioning or trying not to creep on message boards to see what people are predicting for the season. Buck feels _good_ , the best he’s ever felt this early on. He tries to reign it in, that voice in his head reminding him that he could still lose it all at any moment, but it’s muffled and quiet and easy to ignore.

He’s also been seeing more of Eddie, now that he knows he’s not the douchebag he always assumed he was. They condition together, watch each other's jumping passes and offer tips, even take their lunch break together, talking about everything skating and some non skating things too. It’s easy and nice and the best parts of Buck’s days, if he’s honest. He maybe always thinks about talking to Eddie, picking his brain for his thoughts on various skaters’ programs, watching him laugh with his whole body at some snarky comment Buck makes about someone’s horrible choice in costume. Buck likes the way he laughs, likes the way he feels a little warmer when he _makes_ him laugh.

He should have known this brief bubble of happiness would be popped sooner rather than later.

The day before they leave, he and Maddie get an email — an _email_ — from their mother, inviting them to dinner while they’re in town for the competition. To say Buck’s surprised would be an understatement.

“How’d they even find out it’s in Reading this year? Did you tell them?”

Maddie rolls her eyes, stabbing her salad with a little more force than necessary. “I haven’t spoken to them in longer than you have, so no. They’ve probably seen ads or something.”

“We could lie, tell them Bobby’s really strict about non-skating things during competitions?”

“Sure, but then they might just call Bobby on their own and blow our whole cover.”

“We could tell them we’re sick? Food poisoning? Then miraculously get better?”

“If that didn’t work when you tried to get out of taking your SAT, I don’t think it’ll work this time, either.”

“I wasn’t even planning on _going to college_ , why did I—” Buck huffs as Maddie shakes her head at him sympathetically.

There’s really no way for them to get out of this.

The thing is, their parents aren’t bad _people_ — a doctor and a PR manager who are on every non-profit board in the county, volunteer at the local animal shelter, and donate plenty of money to plenty of charities. As _parents_ , though, they somehow manage an interesting balance of using their children’s successes for their own bragging rights and making them feel like they’re always just shy of good enough. They supported them growing up, sure, paid their way through lessons and competitions before endorsements started coming in, but it always felt like it was serving their own clout more than helping Buck and Maddie follow their dreams. When they moved out to LA, it was easy to distance themselves, rescheduling calls indefinitely until their parents eventually just stopped trying. 

The last time Buck talked to them was right after his leg surgery — they called under the guise of “checking in on him”, but spent most of the call figuring out the quickest way to get him back to practice, offering to pay for extra surgeries and PT to speed up the process. He’s sure they thought they were helping, but it felt more like they were eager for him to get back to winning medals so they could tell their friends about it. 

As much as he loves to win, it’s not the same when someone else is pushing you more than you’re pushing yourself. 

He sighs again, slumping down in his chair. He hadn’t been nervous at all about Skate America, but now the itch of self doubt has made a home right under his skin, and it wasn’t even for a skating reason. Maddie reaches across the table to grab his wrist, squeezing lightly. 

“It’ll be two hours max, then we’ll make an excuse about early practice and leave. It won’t be that bad.”

Buck nods, turning back to his lunch, suddenly not hungry as his stomach continues to churn.

~~~~~~~~~~

He didn’t expect to get this nostalgic, but the familiar drive toward Reading and the Sovereign Center ( _Santander Arena_ now, because capitalism is a prison) fills him with jittery excitement and a weird sense of calm, just like it did when he was a kid competing in the regional circuit. The arena was a palace compared to their rink in Hershey, and it always made him want to skate well enough to be worthy of the ice there. It’s where he won his first medal ever, his first gold, his first trip to Nationals, and would hopefully now serve as a stepping stone once again, this time leading him towards Beijing.

Eddie’s lounging on his bed, shirtless and flipping channels, when Buck gets to their room. It wasn’t a surprise this time — they’d requested to room together anyway — but seeing Eddie like this, soft and relaxed and somehow at home in a hotel room, makes Buck’s heart flip a little bit. 

Buck’s heart has been flipping a _lot_ around Eddie, and making him think about stupid things like kissing him and how his abs would feel under his fingertips and how he’d prefer his eggs in the morning. It’s taking up a lot of real estate in his brain, and it’s going to get even worse now that they’re sleeping 10 feet away from each other, he’s sure.

That doesn’t stop him from sneaking glances at Eddie while he unpacks. Just to get it out of his system so he can focus. 

It’s _fine_.

He can totally handle this.

~~~~~~~~~~

Skata America is a much bigger deal than ACI — more cameras, more interviews, more people watching in the stands and on TV. That should mean it’s all more intimidating, too, but Buck is thriving under the lights and camera lenses. This will be the first real chance to show people — not just skating people, but _everyone_ — what he can do, and the anticipation of how it will be received buzzes through him constantly. That buzz practically dictates his every move through practices and his short, finally ceasing as he hits his final pose. It’s quickly replaced by elation — he _knows_ he nailed everything, he _knows_ the resounding applause is deserved.

He _knows_ he’s in first place before they even announce his score.

When they do, he’s right, and he’s _thrilled_ , but there’s also a pang of disappointment, because the margin is _tight_ — only three points between him and Eddie in second. Bobby hands him his protocols in the green room, and his stomach clenches when he sees that his step sequence _and_ his sit spin were downgraded to level threes. His brain starts spinning, mentally combing through every revolution and edge to figure out where the hell he fucked up, when he feels a warm, solid hand on his shoulder. He looks up and sees Eddie, but instead of pity like he expected (or gloating like he feared), he just sees understanding in his eyes, maybe even a hint of the same irritation he’s feeling.

“They screwed me over too, my camel should have had a plus three GOE at _least_.” Eddie says, squeezing Buck’s shoulder. Somehow, he’s already feeling better.

“I bet it was the French judge, he’s always been a conniving bastard.”

“We could take him out, we have time before tomorrow.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Buck says, as Eddie offers his hand and pulls him up to stand. He tries not to miss the warmth when he lets go.

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie says quietly as they make their way around skaters and coaches in the hallway toward the press room, “I think you should be at least 10 points ahead, if not more. You were something else out there.”

Buck can’t make his brain come up with a proper response by the time they take their seats on the makeshift stage in front of the reports, so all he can do is smile and hope it comes across as totally chill and not as dopey as it feels.

Eddie smiles back, and Buck thinks he’s beautiful.

The presser goes just as expected — a few questions lobbed at the Candian skater currently in third, more for Buck since he’s in first, but the most still go to Eddie. Being the favorite for Olympic gold doesn’t go away after half a competition, and the reporters are rabid as ever. Buck’s seen Eddie’s press routine — the humble charm and gracious smiles, cracking jokes like he’s talking to friends and not a bunch of strangers with tape recorders. He’d spent years mentally rolling his eyes at what he thought was the fakeness of it all, but after getting closer to Eddie, he knows that’s just how Eddie _is_. Kind and patient, actively listening to what people are saying, taking his time to form thoughtful answers. 

But whatever’s happening now is not the Eddie he knows — his laughs are forced and almost too loud, his smile is tight and boarding on a grimace. He keeps fidgeting with his credentials and the sleeve of his Team USA zip-up, eyes darting around like he’s charting his path to get out of the room as fast as possible once they’re done. 

He’s _nervous_. Buck doesn’t think he’s ever seen him nervous, at least not like this, and it’s honestly a little unsettling. So much so that all Buck wants to do is fix it, bring the light back to Eddie’s eyes, bleed the tension out of his shoulders.

There’s probably not an easy way to do that while answering questions about his performance.

He waits until he sees the “wrap it up” signal from the event worker off to the side, the next reporter giving one last question to the Canadian skater. He doesn’t think about it too hard, just stretches his leg a little to the right, slowly, until he and Eddie are ankle to ankle. It’s not much, but Eddie still looks over at him, first confused and then grateful, a small, _real_ smile on his face, his shoulders falling away from his ears.

Eddie’s quiet on the ride back to the hotel, but he looks calmer, listening to everyone else talk about their events and what could happen tomorrow during free skates. He’s still jittery though, leg bouncing as he sits next to Buck on the bus. Whatever was bothering him during interviews is clearly still lingering, and Buck has to fight the urge to reach out and calm his shaking with a hand on his knee. 

They make it back to their room, door barely clicking in place behind them, before Buck breaks.

“Are you okay?” he asks. Eddie freezes in front of him, half turned around like he was about to ask Buck something before he steamrolled over him. “You seemed stressed during the presser and on the ride back, and I just...wanted to make sure you’re good.”

Eddie looks stunned for a second before letting out a breath, hand rubbing over his face. “I knew this would happen, you know? The extra attention. It happened after Pyeongchang and the bronze medal, but it died down eventually. I thought I’d have more time to mentally prepare for it again, I guess.” He shakes his head, hand falling to his side as he shrugs his shoulders helplessly. “Today was just a lot.”

Buck nods, patting Eddie’s arm in understanding because he gets it. Most of the time he basks in any form of attention, but some days the lights are too hot and the voices are too loud and faking a smile through it is impossible. The one Buck sees now is real though, he knows it, and he’s happy to see Eddie relaxing now that they’re away from the vultures.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ll be out of your hair tonight, so you’ll have plenty of time to yourself,” Buck says, crossing the room to his bed, digging through his bag for his dinner clothes.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asks, and when Buck looks back at him as he heads to the bathroom to change, he swears he looks disappointed, briefly, before it shifts to confusion. “We don’t have any team stuff tonight, right?”

“Nah, Maddie and I got suckered into dinner with our parents.”

“Are Buckley family dinners always black tie affairs?” he asks when Buck comes back in slacks and a white button down, struggling to knot his tie. 

“No, but they told us to dress nicely, so we’re probably going to some fancy restaurant downtown. Knowing them, we’ll also be dragged to some party one of their friends is having that’s conveniently close by.”

He groans in frustration when his tie comes out crooked _again_ , and Eddie laughs, taking pity on him and coming to do it himself. Buck tries to keep cool, willing his cheeks not to turn red, but it’s hard when he can feel Eddie’s breath on his chin, feel his fingers run across his collarbones, and he’s _so_ close, if he just leaned in— 

“Sounds like it wouldn’t be the first time.”

Buck sighs through his nose. “I love my parents, they’re just...better from a distance.”

Eddie winces in what looks like sympathy, smoothing Buck’s tie and the front of his shirt as he finishes. Buck misses the motion as soon as it’s gone.

“Maybe they’ll prove you wrong this time,” Eddie says.

Buck rolls his eyes at that, but can’t help a small part of him desperately hoping that Eddie will be right.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie is _so_ wrong.

Not only is there a party, it’s a party _at their parent’s house_ , which is in full swing by the time Buck and Maddie pull up in their Lyft. Their mother opens the door, hair up, dress immaculate, lipstick-stained wine glass perched precariously in her hand.

“Evan! Maddie! Come in, so glad you could join us!” She kisses both their cheeks and hugs them quickly before taking their hands and dragging them deeper into the house. There are people everywhere, some faces Buck remembers and some new ones. There are waiters milling around too, passing bacon wrapped figs and mini bruschetta, and Buck feels his stomach rumble.

“So I guess we’re not doing dinner, huh Mom?” Buck asks, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum. Judging by the look Maddie gives him, he’s not doing a great job.

Their mother, of course, doesn’t bat an eye. “Sorry, sweetheart. We didn’t realize we were double booked, and we’d already moved this party once. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen though, you can eat after I’ve introduced you to some people. Everyone’s _so_ excited to hear about how you’re doing. Philip, there you are!” Buck spots his father too, a head above the crowd, tie loose and cheeks flushed. He shakes Buck’s hand firmly, kisses Maddie on the top of her head, and is gone in an instant when someone beckons him towards the bar set up on the back wall of the living room.

“Nice to see you, too. We’re doing fine, thanks for asking!” Buck says under his breath before their mother is whisking them away again. 

They spend the next hour flitting between couples — the Whiteheads, the Culls, the Carters, and a bunch of others he can’t differentiate — getting whiplash from their mother’s flipping between actual praise and backhanded compliments.

“Evan’s one of the top skaters in the country, though not as highly ranked as he was before his accident. We’re hoping he’ll be back up there by the time the Olympics roll around so he’ll make the team.”

“Maddie’s been with her partner for about three years now, right darling? They don’t have as many golds as she had with Doug, but they do skate well together.”

“Yes, that skater from Japan is _very_ good Rebecca, you’re right! Evan, do you know him? Maybe he can give you some pointers about your edges going into your spins? I know you struggle with those.”

On and on and on, Buck and Maddie barely able to get a word in. They see their father only a few times, and each time he’s gone as quickly as he comes, pulled away by colleagues or board members or whoever it is they’re entertaining tonight. Buck is _exhausted_ , and not just because it’s been a long day already, but from having to keep up the good natured laughs and graciousness when he doesn’t even feel like a _person_. He feels more like a trophy, being shuttled from room to room to be admired for a while before being shoved into a closet where no one can see you. Because that’s _exactly_ what’s going to happen — their parents will tout them around for the night, send them back to the hotel, and not speak to them again until they need something.

Buck really forgot just how small this big house can make him feel.

Eventually, he breaks away, making an excuse about needing the restroom before quietly sneaking up the back staircase to the second floor. Maddie finds him 15 minutes later, sliding down to sit next to him in the guest room closet.

“Old habits die hard, I guess,” she says, and Buck smiles weakly. He hid in here a lot when he was a kid, sometimes with Maddie and sometimes alone. When it was all too much — the pressure from their parents or his coach or himself — this is where he came to quiet his brain. The darkness and the smell of the cedar chest full of their mother’s old sweaters was comforting, and it wrapped around him like a blanket until he could breathe again. 

“None of their habits have died, that’s for sure,” he says. “Is it sad that I thought they would?”

“It’s not sad to hope for better. It’s just hard when all that hope is for nothing.”

Buck sighs, head thumping against the wall. Maddie threads her arm through his and rests her head on his shoulder. They sit like that for a while, quiet, both in their own heads, though he’s sure Maddie is thinking about and wishing for the same things he is. 

He shifts eventually, head resting on top of hers. “Can we go yet? We could probably sneak out the back door. If they haven’t come looking for us yet, they definitely won’t notice.”

“Should we just go back to the hotel? It’s only 8:30.”

“What else are we gonna do?”

Maddie types furiously on her phone for a minute. “Chim, Hen, and May are down to hang out. And WhirlyDome is open until midnight.”

“That place is still around?”

“Apparently, and they have half price appetizers after 9.”

The thought of mozzarella sticks and onion rings makes his stomach growl loudly again. “Alright, let’s do it. But I’m inviting Eddie too.”

Maddie just smirks at him, getting up and out of the closet before he has a chance to ask what the look was for. 

It would just be rude _not_ to invite him.

And maybe part of Buck wishes he had stayed in with Eddie tonight from the start.

 **[to: Eddie]** tonight sucked. we’re going to play whirlyball and eat fried food. u in?

 **[from: Eddie]** ????? What the hell is whirlyball?

 **[to: Eddie]** omg now u HAVE to come. meet us here in half an hour

He sends the address and does _not_ smile like an idiot when Eddie says he’ll see him soon.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So it’s...bumper cars?”

“Bumper cars plus lacrosse plus basketball, kind of. It’s super fun and only a little dangerous.”

“Can I watch for a bit first?”

“Sorry Eds, first timers _have_ to play. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Eddie still looks skeptical as they get ready for the next game, carefully sitting in the car and picking up his scoop. 

A bell rings and the cars come to life, rumbling around the room as everyone starts scrambling for the ball. It takes about 30 seconds for Eddie to get the hang of steering, and by the end of the first game, no one would ever guess he’d never played before. He leads their team to three victories in a row, laughing and cheering loudly along with everyone else, like he hadn’t been overwhelmed with anxiety just a few hours earlier. Something warms in Buck at the thought that he helped with that smile, and it’s a feeling he thinks he could get used to, a job he wouldn’t mind having if it meant Eddie was this happy more often than not.

Despite it all — despite good friends and good food and the feeling of Eddie’s shoulder pressed against his, Buck still feels the tendrils of doubt and panic floating around him. They’re bad enough during competitions normally, but pair them with what happened at his parents’ house — being reminded of how he’ll never live up to their lofty image of him, even if he _does_ make it to Beijing — and everything just feels dark and cold, and he doesn’t think his lungs are working properly. He leaves the table, says he’s going to the bathroom, but ends up outside instead. WhirlyDome is in the older half of a shopping center in downtown Hershey, and the outside has been renovated since he was last here, now featuring an elaborate fountain surrounded by benches and newly paved pathways to the other stores. He sinks down on the nearest bench, the cool October air grounding him, making it easier to think, easier to try and smash down all these swirling emotions he’s trying not to feel.

Eddie finds him there, sits down next to him on the bench without saying anything. They stay in companionable silence, watching the fountain dance and the people bustle back and forth across the plaza, getting last minute shopping in before the stores close.

“I’m sorry dinner sucked,” Eddie says eventually, quiet and sincere. 

Buck shrugs. “I knew it would. Just got my hopes up too high that things would be different.”

Eddie nods, eyes drifting back to the fountain. Now that they’re alone and the excitement from the games is gone, he can see the slightly weary lines of Eddie’s shoulders, see how he’s still curling in on himself, like he’s trying to escape into his own body.

“How are you?” Buck asks, knocking his knee against Eddie’s gently. “I know this isn’t exactly a quiet night in.”

“I’m alright. Better than I would be, thanks to you.”

“What did I do?”

Eddie’s staring at the ground, but his cheeks are flushing pink, and Buck wants to reach out and feel the heat of them under his fingertips.

“You were there,” he says. “I’m usually alone when I start feeling like that, and nothing makes it better. But I wasn’t alone this time.”

 _I don’t want you to be alone_ , Buck thinks, and these thoughts he’s been having — about Eddie, about being _with_ Eddie — are getting louder and louder and harder to ignore. Especially now, when it’s just the two of them, and Eddie’s eyes are sparkling like gems under the street lights. 

It’s almost hilarious that barely six weeks ago, and for 10 very long years, he could hardly stand the sight of him.

Eddie finally looks up from the ground, facing Buck, and they’re so much closer than he thought they were. He can count every eyelash, smell his cologne, watch his eyes trace over Buck’s face, from his eye to his lips and back again.

Buck doesn’t even realize he’s leaning in until his vision starts to blur, and he stops short. He tries to move back slowly, casually, but then firm hands are cupping his jaw, pulling him forward until soft lips meet his own. There’s no fireworks, no angels singing, just warm molasses in his veins, spreading to every part of him until he’s so warm he’s certain he must be glowing. His hands twist into Eddie’s jacket, pulling him as close as possible until he’s practically in his lap. They move to his shirt, feeling the abs he’s been thinking about for weeks now, and he almost melts right to the ground at the sound Eddie sighs into his mouth. 

He’s not sure how long they kiss, but it doesn’t feel like long enough by the time they come up for air. He doesn’t go far, still close enough to feel Eddie’s breath fan across his lips, but he’s not sure what to do now. He wants to know what this means (if it means anything at all), he wants to know what Eddie’s thinking, he wants to memorize the way Eddie tastes and feel his abs for real.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, making them both jump. It’s a text from Maddie, telling him they’re car is here and asking where the hell they went. He looks back at Eddie, still so close, and swallows down the urge to kiss him again and tell his friends to leave them here.

“We should— we have to go,” he says, gesturing toward the parking lot. Eddie’s eyes are flitting over his face again, unreadable but still bright. He nods finally, standing up and offering his hand to Buck. He can’t fight the smile or the blush that he feels, so he doesn’t, taking Eddie’s hand to help him stand. They stay put for a minute, until Eddie squeezes his hand and drops it, smiling that soft smile again as he turns away. 

Buck smiles himself, still full of warmth and lips still tingling, before following Eddie to the car.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ride back is quiet, everyone tired and settling back into the competition mindset they were able to let go of for a few hours. Buck feels it too, already running step sequences in his head again, but he keeps getting distracted. Eddie’s sitting next to him in the back seat of the Lyft, head tipped back and eyes closed, looking at peace for the first time all day. Buck tries to stop, tries to keep his focus, but his eyes keep drifting back to Eddie’s jaw, the cut of his cheekbones, the stubble shadowing his cheeks. It’s hard to remember what edges he’s supposed to hit tomorrow when he keeps thinking about how that stubble felt under his lips.

They silently make their way back to their room, and Buck knows they need to talk. He’s trying to figure out where the hell to start as he turns on the light in the small entryway, illuminating everything in a light that feels too harsh for whatever is currently simmering between them. Eddie’s right behind him when he turns around, looking just as unsure as Buck feels. It’s comforting, them being on the same page, but Buck hates that he’s responsible for making Eddie feel like this.

He can’t figure out where to start, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tries to figure out what to say. Eddie takes pity on him eventually, reaching for his hand again.

“Let’s talk tomorrow?” he asks. “After free skates.”

It’s an out that Buck is more than willing to take. Not that he doesn’t _want_ to talk, he just...can’t. Not right now. So he nods, squeezing Eddie’s hand in thanks. He goes to pull away, but Eddie’s grip stays firm.

“It wasn’t nothing to me,” he says, tilting his head until Buck meets his eye. “I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing or what it meant for you, but it _was_ something for me.”

Buck’s doesn’t know what to do with that, either. He wants to kiss Eddie again and he wants to run far away from him and he wants to _skate_ , but he can’t until the morning. So he just nods again, and it seems to be enough. Eddie nods back, finally dropping his hand as he heads into the bathroom and shuts the door. 

Buck doesn’t bother waiting for his turn, just strips out of his dress clothes and crawls into bed. He falls asleep fast, dreams of brown eyes and triple axels — taking off, rising, and falling, falling, falling…

~~~~~~~~~~

He knows he’s falling before his ass hits the ice.

It was inevitably, really — he felt like he was fighting himself through the entire program, trying to keep it from completely unraveling. He knows that to anyone else, any casual fan and even some analysts, he looked good, strong, put together right until the end. But _he_ knows that this isn’t his best. And this fall is definitely going to cost him.

He recovers quickly, finishing the rest of the program as close to perfectly as he can manage. He smiles and bows, waves to his friends in the stands, tries to pretend like he’s okay with knowing that he’s definitely not winning this gold. 

It’s his own fault. He’d let his parents worm their way into his brain again, amplifying the self doubt that was already lingering, making him second guess every move, even the things he _knows_ are good. Pair that with the fact that he can’t stop thinking about Eddie — not just the kiss, but his smile as he took the ice, his effortless jumps — and it was a miracle he only fell once.

He takes silver, four points behind Eddie’s gold. The fact that it _was_ that fall that did him in stings worse than anything.

At the medal ceremony, he catches Eddie’s eye for the first time all day on the podium, and surprises himself with the genuine smile he gives him. It’s certainly not Eddie’s fault, what happened today — he didn’t _ask_ to take up most of Buck’s thoughts, Buck _let_ that happen. And if he keeps letting it happen, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to skate clean again.

He knows they still need to talk, and he knows exactly what he needs to say, but he _really_ doesn’t want to say it. 

Luckily, he doesn’t have to say anything right away. Eddie disappears after the presser and doesn’t join him and May in the stands for the free dance. Buck tries to ignore the empty seat next to him, but it’s harder than usual.

They have a late flight back to LA, and Eddie’s already packed but the time Buck makes it back to the room. They stand across from each other in the entryway, just like last night, but the tension in the air feels wary under Buck’s skin instead of hopeful.

“You were amazing today,” Buck blurts out, not at all how he wanted to start this conversation. It’s worth it, though, for the smile and blush he gets from Eddie.

“Thanks,” he says, eyes on the floor. “So were you.”

 _Jesus, just tell him_ , Buck thinks, and he squares his shoulders like he’s preparing for a fight.

“It was something for me, too,” he says softly. “Yesterday, it— it definitely wasn’t nothing.”

Eddie looks at him, waiting, and Buck hesitates.

He really, _really_ doesn’t want to say it.

“But?” Eddie prompts, because of course he knows there’s more.

“But,” Buck sighs. “But I can’t— We should wait. Until after the Olympics. I don’t think either of us want to be too distracted before then, and I don’t know if you know this, but you are very...very distracting.” Eddie snorts and rolls his eyes, and Buck lets his gaze rake over Eddie from top to bottom, distracting himself for just a little bit longer.

“You’re right,” Eddie says quietly. “Let’s wait. And I’ll try and be less distracting, so I can keep kicking your ass fair and square.”

“Oh really?” Buck laughs, and Eddie’s laughing too, and it feels _good_ and _normal_ and Buck doesn’t want it to stop. But it has to. Because as much as Buck wants to dive deeper into this...whatever this is with Eddie, he wants to win more. Not _much_ more (which is a thought he never expected to have about _anyone_ ), but definitely more. 

And if anyone in the world understands that feeling, it’s Eddie.

There’s a knock on the door, Bobby giving them a 15 minute warning before they’re supposed to head to the airport. Buck moves to head toward his things so he can pack, but Eddie grabs his arm before he can go too far. His eyes look soft and sad and hopeful and a million other things Buck is feeling too, and he just wants to drown in them, in this moment, before he has to go back out into the world, alone.

Eddie leans forward, softly kissing Buck’s cheek, lingering in his space before he heads out of the room, door quietly shutting behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this chapter in like october, way before we learned anything about the buckleys, so they're a little weird but also this is an AU so it's fine
> 
> also if you've never been exposed to the incredible game that is whirlyball, 1.) i'm so sorry for you and 2.) [educate yourself](https://youtu.be/aMLWdraOE4o)
> 
> and listen, i know they're dumb, but if it makes you feel any better, they were supposed to kiss _way_ later in the original outline but i couldn't wait that long 😂😂
> 
> feel free to yell at/with me on [tumblr](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/)!!
> 
> Programs:
> 
> Buck's [short program](https://youtu.be/naEncCHKeLc) and [free skate](https://youtu.be/pCoTDb9Pd8A)
> 
> Eddie's [short program and free skate](https://youtu.be/OjCpS6hOdWc)
> 
> May's [short program](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0W7wHqwUuZc) and [free skate](https://youtu.be/sRTy4mcJjaw)
> 
> Maddie and Chim's [rhythm dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhqoB29-5_0) and [free dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6r1e74OFGc)


	4. ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating - NHK Trophy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nhk trophy is (sometimes and in this case) the last competition of the grand prix circuit before the grand prix final. after it's over, the top 6 finishers in each discipline across all grand prix competitions will qualify to compete in the final

“Buck!”

Buck nearly slices his hand on the skate he’s supposed to be sharpening when he hears May’s voice. He drags his eyes away from ice long enough to see her, Chim, and Maddie looking at him expectedly. Apparently, that wasn’t the first time she’d said his name.

“Sorry, what?”

“I _said_ we’re going to that Thai place on Sawtelle for dinner, do you wanna come?”

“Oh, uh—” his eyes drift back in time to see Eddie land his cleanest quad lutz all day, and he tries not to smile. “I’ve got a session with Hen in a little bit, maybe tomorrow?”

“You okay, Buckaroo?” Chim asks. “You look...forlorn.”

Buck snorts and shakes his head. “I’m fine, just tired.”

Chim shrugs as he follows the girls out of the rink. Buck tries to focus, tries to get lost in the back and forth of sharpening, but he keeps getting distracted by Eddie’s practice and the way he commands the ice even when no one’s scoring him. He feels an ache in his chest watching him, a dull one but still there — it’s been a month since Skate America, and they still have lunch and hang out and everything is _fine_ , but there’s also a tension between them now, the tension of knowing what it’s like to have their hands on each other, what the other one tastes like, and wanting to do it _more_. 

They make eye contact as Eddie heads for the locker room, and he sends Buck a smile so warm Buck swears it’s better than sunshine.

He keeps thinking this waiting thing is going to get easier, but it really, _really_ hasn’t.

“Did you guys get a divorce or something?” Buck jumps as Hen sits down next to him and starts lacing up her skates. 

“What? We haven’t— We never— _What?_ ” Buck asks, voice an octave higher than normal. 

Hen levels him with an unimpressed look. “Don’t give me that. You went from hating him to being attached at the hip to staring at him like a lovesick puppy in like six weeks. Either this is a lover’s spat, or it’s some kinky roleplay thing that I don’t actually want to know anything about.”

Buck doesn’t think he’s ever blushed so hard or so fast in his whole life. “Jesus, it’s _none_ of those things! We—” he looks around quickly before turning back and lowering his voice, “we _did_ kiss, at Skate America, but it was just once and we decided to...pause any next relationship steps until after the Olympics.”

“Why? You’re allowed to date teammates, that’s not against the rules.”

“I know, but—” he’s not sure how to explain _I can’t stop thinking about him but that makes me lose focus and as much as I want to make out with him I also want to beat him at every possible competition_ without sounding insane, so he settles on “we just don’t want any distractions.”

“So you’re gonna pine for each other from afar for the next three months, because that’s less distracting than actually being together?”

Buck pauses lacing up his own skates. “Okay, so maybe it’s not a _great_ plan.”

Hen shrugs as she pushes off from the boards, skating backwards so Buck can still see her skeptical frown. “It might be easier to handle if you just embrace it now. I know it’ll be easier for _me_ to handle.”

 _Maybe she’s right_ , a little voice in his head whispers, because it makes sense. But at the same time, a relationship is something he’s never had to factor into competition season before, so he’s honestly not sure how to navigate it. Maybe it starts great, they’re mooning over each other, but then one of them has a bad showing, and it leads to animosity or jealousy or some other ugly thing that would drive a wedge back between them when they’d (he’d) _just_ overcome it. Buck cares about Eddie, cares about their friendship, their potential relationship, Eddie’s general happiness. But he also cares about his career, about his own dreams, and call him selfish or single minded, but he _really_ cares about winning the Olympics. And he’s not willing to risk hurting any of those things by jumping into something too quickly.

He wants to do this with Eddie, but he wants to do this _right_ , when he can make Eddie a top priority like he deserves. If that means he has to endure a few more months of pining, then fine. Come February, it’ll all be more than worth it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, he’s sitting cross-legged at center ice, staring off at nothing, when he sees Eddie skating over to him out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t say anything, just sits down next to Buck, copying his position, and inviting himself into the reflective silence Buck’s created in the dim morning light.

He finds he doesn’t mind the company so much. 

“Are we meditating?” Eddie whispers eventually, like he still respects the quiet even though he has no idea what it’s for. 

“Something like that,” Buck says, and Eddie nods, lets them fall back into their own thoughts. It makes Buck melt a little bit, a welcome relief from the incessant buzzing he’s been feeling under his skin all morning.

The truth is, Buck hasn’t been able to make himself move for about 20 minutes. He came in for one last early practice before they’re supposed to fly to Japan, fell on every single jump he attempted, and eventually just didn’t get back up. He had half hoped giving up would spurn his stubborn streak to try _one more time one last jump_ , but instead he just sat, his worries burying him deeper and deeper like freshly fallen snow.

He groans and leans back, laying flat on the ice, trying to focus on the bite of the cold on the back of his head instead of anything else. Eddie follows suit to mirror him again, and Buck’s stupidly grateful that he’s here. He turns his head to face him and is met with eyes glowing honey colored in the sunlight.

“I’m really worried about fucking everything up,” he says in a rush, like Eddie’s gaze pulled it right out of him before he could put all is walls up and lock them, pretend like he’s still strong and has it all together.

“You won’t,” Eddie says with no hesitation.

Buck rolls his eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. I’ve watched you skate since we were 16. I know setbacks make you fight harder.”

“This isn’t about setbacks,” he says, sitting up and resting back on his hands. “This is about going to the last GP before the Final, where everyone is warmed up and has all their kinks worked out, while I can’t even land a clean triple loop.”

Eddie, once again, sits up to mirror him. “One bad practice doesn’t mean anything. Your programs are solid, the audience and the judges love you, you really have nothing to worry about.”

“Except your perfect jumps getting in my way.”

Eddie laughs and it echoes around the rink. “Yeah, except that. But hey, if I win, I’ll let you hold the medal, just to remember what gold feels like.”

With anyone else, Buck would bristle at a joke like that, especially after a trainwreck of a practice. Hell, three months ago, he _certainly_ wouldn’t have been okay with Eddie saying it. But now he just laughs, and he feels almost relieved, because despite their being direct competition, despite the pause they put on whatever it was they were moving towards, he still has Eddie in his corner. He might not actually know how this next week will go, but Eddie believes in him, and right now, it’s enough to finally get him up off the ice, offering a hand down to Eddie to pull him up too. They linger for a minute, hands still clasped, before Buck pulls away and glides toward the edge of the rink.

“Think you can’t beat me in a 500 meter, golden boy?”

Eddie smiles that smile that makes Buck’s stomach drop, and then he’s flashing past him, halfway around the ice before Buck can even start. They go around and around, name calling and playfully shoving, and Buck’s nerves melt away with every burst of speed and every glimpse of joy on Eddie’s face.

~~~~~~~~~~

By the time they land in Sapporo, Buck’s so exhausted he feels a little drunk. He’s never been good at sleeping on long flights, always too distracted by the endless movie choices or a trashy thriller he picked up at Hudson News or his own worries swirling in his head. He finally managed to fall asleep for an hour before he was woken up by the warm weight of Eddie’s cheek resting on his shoulder, his hair softly brushing his jaw.

His only focus after that was on keeping as still as possible for the rest of the flight.

Eddie, thankfully, takes charge of herding him through customs and to the car waiting for them at arrivals, gently steering him so he avoids people and poles while his eyes are half closed. He’s _much_ nicer about it than Maddie ever is, and he only runs into a wall once. Eddie apologizes for it profusely, gently rubbing his head checking for bumps. Buck has to literally bite his tongue before an embarrassing string of words tumbles of his exhausted mouth.

They make it to the hotel in one piece, and Buck barely has time to take his shoes off before he passes out, starfished on the bed, soothed by the background noise of Eddie puttering around the bathroom. 30 seconds later (actually four hours but it _feels_ much shorter), an alarm goes off, and Buck is once again herded around the room and out the door, a cup of coffee shoved into his hand as they get in the van to take them to practice. 

Thanks to the coffee and a 30 minute nap in the van, Buck’s at least awake enough to be functional when they arrive. He’s even more awake after a few laps around the rink, the wind stinging his face a better pick-me-up than caffeine. He runs his jumps with Bobby, lands them clean, and he feels _good_ , his nerves quieted by lingering exhaustion and confidence he hasn’t been able to find in a few weeks. 

He sees Eddie by the boards, the usual thrill of having him watch running through him, pushing him just a little bit harder, but it’s quickly snuffed out when he sees that Eddie’s not alone, and he’s not even looking at the ice. Instead, he’s talking to a handsome Russian skater, one that Buck’s known since they were juniors so he _knows_ how big of an asshole he is. He’s laughing loudly like Eddie just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard, his hand running up and down Eddie’s bicep in a _much_ too friendly way. Buck tries to shake it off and keep focused, but after falling out of two spins and almost face planting on a three turn, Hen sends him off to stretch on his own and “get your damn head on straight”. He stalks off, passing close enough to Eddie and The Asshole to hear The Asshole ask when Eddie will have time to get dinner before going back to the States. 

Buck...he’s not _jealous_. He has no reason to be, he and Eddie are _not_ dating. But he feels something boiling hot and nasty in his stomach, and he kind of wants to slam the guy’s hand with a toe pick every time his laugh pierces through the rink.

He’s being obnoxious and distracting, so Buck _is_ pissed, but _not_ jealous. And he is _not_ avoiding Eddie by hiding in Chimney’s room until he’s sure Eddie’s asleep.

He does avoid him the next day, out of an abundance of caution that his brain-to-mouth filter might fail and he’ll say something he regrets, and because he _does_ need to get his head on straight and focus like Hen said. He needs at least silver to qualify for the Final and push him a little bit further in the USFSA’s good graces, upping his chances of being named to the Olympic team in two months. He can’t do that if he’s worrying about non-existent relationship drama. So he fills the rest of the day with practice and conditioning, working hard enough that his brain quiets and he feels prepared, but not so much that he hurts himself. He sees Eddie here and there, thinks he tries to catch his eye a few times, but he’s got tunnel vision now, and nothing short of a life or death emergency will break it. 

At least, that’s how his tunnel vision _used_ to work. 

But the next day during short programs, he sees The Asshole strutting towards Eddie again before their warm-up group goes out, and his tunnel crumbles, filling his brain with static and rubble. 

His program could have gone worse, overall, but it also certainly could have gone better. A quad loop turned triple loop and a sketchy landing on his triple axel land him in third place, meaning his free actually has to be perfect to get him to the Final. Only the six highest scoring skaters after all Grand Prix events qualify, and last he checked, he was _just_ in sixth place but could easily be overtaken. Eddie is (surprise surprise) in first, Buck feeling a strange mix of pride and panic as he watches him execute another flawless short. It seems to be only getting stronger as the season goes on, which should _also_ be happening for Buck, but instead it feels like he’s slowly unravelling, hurrying to spin himself back together before he loses too much ground.

The Asshole is in second. Buck has to sit on his hands during the presser so he doesn’t reach across the table and smack that smug look right off the guy’s face.

“He really said he was ‘looking forward to representing his country at the top of the Olympic podium’. Like seriously? We’re all thinking it, but no one’s conceited enough to say it _out loud_ and _on the record_.”

Maddie shrugs from the other end of the bed. “Maybe it’s a language thing. Like he meant to say ‘on the podium’ instead but got confused because English is hard.”

Buck levels her with an unimpressed glare. He had come to her room right after the presser, lamenting about everything that went wrong and stupid judges and stupid Russia (“Really, Buck? The whole country?”). He’s usually grateful for Maddie’s voice of reason, but today he just needs to vent all his frustrations that have built up over the past few days. He really doesn’t care if they make sense or not.

“You should see the way he’s throwing himself at Eddie. I’ve watched him flex his arms _every time_ Eddie’s walked past for two days. It’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating.”

“Well, I’m sure Eddie’s not falling for it if this guy is as big of a jerk as you say he is.”

Buck stays quiet, avoiding her eyes and slowly dragging a french fry through ketchup on the room service plate in front of him. 

“Oh my _god_ ,” Maddie groans, reaching forward to shove his shoulder. “Do you really think Eddie is that shallow?”

“Well I don’t know!” Buck says. “I heard him ask Eddie out to dinner after the competition, maybe he said yes! It’s not like he’s seeing anyone.”

“It’s not like he’s seeing _you_ , is what you mean. Since _you_ were the one who said you two should wait until after Beijing.” 

“Whatever,” he mutters as he stabs another fry into ketchup.

Maddie shakes her head. “Jealousy is not a good look on you, Buck.”

“I’m not jealous! I’m just...concerned for my friend, and—” He stops as Maddie just stares at him like she sees right through him. Which, he supposes, is probably not hard for her to do. She reaches out for his hand, taking it in hers and squeezing gently.

“If you’re that ‘concerned’,” she says, air quotes very much implied, “then I think you should just go talk to him.”

“And say what? ‘I don’t want you to go on a date with that handsome Russian man because _I_ want to go on a date with you, even though I was the one who said we should wait because I’m an _idiot_ ’?

“...maybe not those exact words. But you do have to go back to your room, because it’s after midnight, the free dance is in eight hours, and I need to sleep.” She all but rolls him off the bed, pulls him into a quick hug, then shoves him into the hallway. “You got this! Use your words!” she yells as the door closes behind her.

When he gets back, Eddie is still awake, reading a book and icing his right ankle. He smiles at him in greeting, that same soft smile that Buck’s pretty sure only he gets to see. The smile he definitely didn’t see whenever he saw Eddie talking to The Asshole.

Maybe not all hope is lost.

“Rough day?” Buck asks, nodding towards Eddie’s ankle.

“Think I just landed on it weird,” Eddie says. “You did really great.”

“I think the judges would say otherwise, but thanks. You were really great, too.” They swim in a semi-comfortable silence as Buck gets changed. He waffles back and forth on what to say, if it’s actually even worth saying anything at all despite what Maddie said, until he faces Eddie again and blurts out, “So are you gonna go to dinner with that Russian guy?”

Eddie just blinks at him for a second before he starts laughing. It’s not a mean laugh, it’s more like a _I can’t believe you just said something that dumb_ laugh. Maddie has a laugh that’s very similar.

He’s still catching his breath a bit when he answers. “No, no I’m not going to dinner with that guy. You know him, right? He’s a total douche. Pretty sure he was actually holding a flex whenever he was talking to me.”

Buck sits on his bed and tries to keep his own laugh in, worried that it would come out hysterical with relief. Not that he ever _really_ doubted Eddie’s taste or ability to take care of himself. It’s just...nice to have it confirmed.

“Plus,” Eddie says as he gets his composure back fully, “I, uh, told him I’m interested in someone else anyway. So hopefully he’ll back off for good.”

Buck freezes, his eyes locked on Eddie’s. A wave of guilt washes over him so suddenly it makes him nauseous. As dumb as his friends may think he is, he’s not _that_ dumb — he knows what he asked of Eddie when he put this thing of theirs on hold. But _hearing_ that Eddie’s following through, seeing it in action — it doesn’t sit right with him. It makes him feel like he’s imposing, like he’s taking away part of Eddie’s life just for the vague chance that they could have _something_ , something that’s not even guaranteed no matter how right it feels to Buck even now.

“Eddie,” he starts, waffling again, “if you want— I mean you shouldn’t _have_ to— I don’t want you waiting around for— for me, for _us_ , if that’s not something you’re interested in anymore.”

There’s a beat before Eddie moves, tossing his book and the ice pack aside. He stands gingerly, favoring his left side just a little bit, and shushes Buck when he tries to protest. He crosses the short distance between their beds slowly, like he’s trying to make sure Buck doesn’t bolt before he gets to him. Carefully, he reaches down to take both of Buck’s hands in his, moving until he’s standing just between Buck’s legs. When Buck doesn’t look up (partially out of embarrassment, and partially out of marveling at how _warm_ and _good_ Eddie’s hands feel in his), he squeezes gently until he gets his attention. Buck finally manages to lift his head, and is met with a look so full of fondness it takes his breath away.

Eddie lets out a slow breath through his nose. “I wasn’t kidding when I said it meant something,” he says quietly, unwilling to disturb the bubble of peace they seem to form when they’re together. “So I’m still _very_ interested. And I really don't mind the waiting. It’s only three months — we’ll be too stressed and working too hard to think about anything else anyway.”

Buck tries to talk around the lump in his throat, but he can’t, so he just nods instead, squeezing Eddie’s hands back. Something loosens in his chest, a tension he thought was coming from agonizing over his programs and his protocols, but maybe not. Maybe he’s come to rely on Eddie, on his friendship and general presence, more than he thought he has over the past few months. That confirmation that they’re moving toward _something_ , together, makes him feel grounded in a way that he hasn’t felt in weeks.

They stay in their bubble for a little bit longer, and Buck feels himself calm even more. Eventually, Eddie squeezes his hands one more time, whispering “goodnight, Buck” before pulling away and getting back in his bed. He turns the lights off, the room falling into darkness, and Buck drifts off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Something’s definitely wrong. Maybe it was minor yesterday, but after landing on his ankle eight more times during his free, Eddie’s clearly favoring his left side and in a whole lot of pain. It’s clear to Buck, at least — to anyone else, Eddie is all grace and smiles as usual, easily taking first place with no way for anyone else to beat him, even with three skaters left.

But Buck _knows_ , knows Eddie and knows that feeling of trying to push through the pain better than anyone, but he doesn’t have time to do anything about it — talk to Eddie, talk to Bobby, talk to _someone_ — before it’s his turn to skate. He tries to shove the worry down, but that raspy little voice is back in his head, whispering about all the worst things that could be happening to Eddie, and all the worst things that could happen to him _again_ if he fucks up his own landings. Visions of cracked bones and bandaged cuts fly through his head — flashbacks to months of bitterness and rage and uncertainty. The panic at his dream potentially slipping away from him again floods his chest and makes it hard to breathe. He swears he feels his leg seize up, just like it used to, just like it hasn’t in over a year until _right now_ , but can’t figure out if it’s real or not.

His music starts just as his spiral does.

The first fall is, technically, his fault. He’s too close to the boards for his triple axel, so he can either crash into them when he lands or stop short and hit the ice. He loses points either way, but in the split second he has to think about it, the latter seems less embarrassing and less painful. As he stands back up, he quickly does the math in his head. Accounting for his average component scores and any potential tech panel biases, he really, _really_ cannot afford any more screw ups. 

So, naturally, he falls again.

It’s the jolt this time — that fear that grips his entire body when he sees the ice so far below him, the memory of landing so incorrectly that he couldn’t walk for three weeks, couldn’t skate for even longer. And it’s all laced with worry for Eddie, who he knows is watching from the side, no ice on his ankle and still standing on it, trying to ignore something that’s only going to get worse. Maybe it’s projection, but he wouldn’t wish the misery he went through on anyone, not even Eddie when he couldn’t stand the sight of him, and _especially_ not Eddie now.

He finishes by sheer force of will, his stubbornness and perfectionism overcoming his panic long enough to get him through his last step sequence and spins and to hit his final pose with a smile. The applause feels genuine, but he knows it’s not enough. It’s not even _close_ to enough.

He finishes fifth in free skate, fourth overall, and he knows before he even sees the complete standings that he’s not going to the Final.

Luckily, since he finishes off podium, he doesn’t have any post-competition pressers or photo ops or reasons to slap on a fake smile for anyone. He goes back to his room and packs up so he has something to do with his hands. Maddie and May both text him about doing something with their last night in Japan, but the thought of going out and talking to his friends about their successes against his own failures kind of makes him want to throw up. Instead, he turns off his phone and finds a Japanese dub of _Goonies_ playing on cable and burrows into bed in an attempt to get his brain to shut up for the first time all day.

When burrowing doesn’t work, he squishes himself into the armchair by the TV instead.

When that _still_ doesn’t work, he paces.

That’s what he’s doing when Eddie gets back, looking worn out but still smiling, ribbon of his gold medal dangling out of his warm up jacket pocket. He waves goodbye to whoever is on the outside the door, but as soon as it’s closed, the act drops. Buck watches him sink against the door and lets out a long breath, grimacing as he tests out putting full weight on his right ankle.

Whatever anxiety Buck had managed to pace off (which really wasn’t a lot) comes back in full force, and he’s at Eddie’s side in three long steps.

“You’re hurt,” he says matter-of-factly.

Eddie shakes his head. “It’s just really sore, Buck, it’ll be better when I finally get to rest it.”

“No, it won’t be,” Buck snaps as he strides towards the ice bucket in the corner of the room to start filling up a bag. “You’ll _think_ it’s getting better, and you’ll keep taking painkillers to take the edge off, but it’ll just keep getting _worse_ , and you won’t even know it until your PT finally tells you it’s either two months off your feet to let it heal properly or you risk never being able to compete again.” He almost rips the bag in half as he finishes filling it with ice. He wraps it in a spare towel and shoves it at Eddie, who takes it gingerly before sitting on his bed and placing it on his ankle.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” Eddie says. 

Buck shrugs. He might know a thing or two about trying to force healing too quickly and ignoring pain, about getting a cast off two weeks too early and almost having his bone heal crooked. But his issues are not what’s important right now. 

What’s important is Eddie.

“Look, can you just—” Buck sits on the bed next to Eddie, hovering over him like he can use his body to shield Eddie from anything else that might hurt him. “Just promise me you’ll get it checked when we get home, okay? Don’t put it off, don’t wait until after the Final—”

“Hey,” Eddie says, his hand coming to Buck’s shoulder and squeezing. “I’ll go, I promise. First appointment I can get.” Buck nods, and Eddie nods with him, thumb softly pressing against his pulse point. He doesn’t feel _better_ , but he feels less buzzy, less like he’s dangling off the edge of a cliff by the tips of his fingers.

Buck nods again, decisively, before quickly squeezing Eddie’s wrist and standing. Eddie catches his hand before he makes it very far, his eyes filled with an intensity he hasn’t seen off the ice.

“I’m okay,” he says firmly, reassuringly. “ _We’re_ okay. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

 _You don’t know that_ , Buck thinks, but he just quirks a smile instead before heading to the bathroom.

He closes the door behind him, sinks to the floor, and tries to let any worse case scenarios push him back over the edge.

~~~~~~~~~~

**[from: Eddie]** It’s a stress fracture

 **[from: Eddie]** They said if I had landed on it a few more times it would have been much worse

 **[from: Eddie]** Glad I listened to you

Buck feels a weird sense of relief and unease as he reads Eddie’s texts. The door to Bobby’s office shuts behind him, the sounds of the rink muffled to a dull murmur. He’s not sure why he’s here — he hasn’t done anything to get him in trouble, and they literally had practice together an hour ago.

Bobby sits at his desk, hands folded in front of him. “So I’m not sure if you heard, but Eddie—”

“—has a stress fracture in his ankle, yeah, he just told me.”

Bobby smirks before continuing. “He’ll be out for the next six weeks at least, so he’ll be missing the Final.” He pauses for what feels like dramatic effect.

Buck scrunches his brow. “Right. But what does that have to do with me? I’m second alternate, that kid from Japan should be taking his spot.”

“And he is,” Bobby says. “But the skater from Canada who qualified also has to withdraw. I guess a bad case of the stomach flu has been going through their team. He won’t be back in shape by next weekend, which means—”

“I’m in,” Buck says quietly.

Bobby nods. “You’re in.”

Buck’s first reaction is to laugh. A high pitched, hysterical laugh because he really can’t believe this is happening. He screwed up, screwed up _bad_ , but he’s getting a second chance, by some twist of fate or intervention from the universe or however the hell this happened. Bobby keeps talking about flights and practice schedules, and Buck hears him, but not really, because all he feels is relieved. Relieved that his Olympic chances maybe won’t be as squashed as he thought, and relieved that he gets a chance to prove himself again, to show that he can deliver and that he’s _worthy_.

That’s all he’s ever trying to do, really.

He leaves Bobby’s office practically floating, already texting Hen about when they can meet and tweaks he wants to make that will push his programs that much closer to perfect. He’s in the middle of calling Maddie when he gets a text back, pulling it up as she starts listing all the program improvements she has planned for her and Chim to work on since they didn’t make the Final themselves.

It’s not from Hen like he expects, it’s from Eddie — a picture of him laid up on a couch, foot in an air cast but still smiling at the camera.

 **[from: Eddie]** Told you I’d take care of myself. I’ll be cheering you on from here

It hits him then, and he plummets back down to Earth at the reminder.

Eddie’s not coming with him.

He gets to try and keep his Olympic dreams alive, while Eddie stays home and hopes that he does enough to be healthy in time for Nationals.

A year ago, he’d be stupidly smug about a change of events like this. Now, it just makes his stomach twist and sympathy and sadness. He’ll be facing this competition alone — without his friend, his fiercest competition, his... _Eddie —_ and no matter how much easier it might be for him to stay focused, alone is the last thing he wants to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hen, as always, speaks for us all 
> 
> come yell at my on [tumblr!](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Programs:
> 
> Buck's [short program](https://youtu.be/naEncCHKeLc) and [free skate](https://youtu.be/pCoTDb9Pd8A)
> 
> Eddie's [short program and free skate](https://youtu.be/OjCpS6hOdWc)
> 
> May's [short program](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0W7wHqwUuZc) and [free skate](https://youtu.be/sRTy4mcJjaw)
> 
> Maddie and Chim's [rhythm dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OhqoB29-5_0) and [free dance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d6r1e74OFGc)


	5. ISU Grand Prix of Figure Skating Final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the grand prix final closes out the grand prix series and the first half of the season

The Final is a big deal. Even more so this year since it’s the last international competition before the Olympics — the last chance to show the world that you’re worthy of their attention come February. Buck’s been to five of the last eight Finals, and usually all the extra attention from press and fans, even during non-Olympic seasons, make him giddy with excitement, adrenaline pumping through him for almost a solid week before he actually competes.

This time, however, it’s been a week of feeling like he’s going to throw up any second.

It’s not because he’s doing bad at practices — in fact, he’s feeling better than ever, even got to work out his shaky landing on his quad flip that’s been haunting him for weeks. Ice looks the same no matter where you are, so it’s easy for him to get lost in the two hours he’s out there and forget everything and everyone else around him while he works.

When he steps off the ice, though, he’s thrust right back into a world where everyone is keeping an eye on him, watching him to see if he’ll live up to the expectations of being one of the best US skaters a top Olympic hopeful, or if he’ll crumble under the pressure of trying to be _the_ best but always falling a little bit short, especially since the last Games. He’s always viewed it as a redemption — overcoming his injury and clawing his way back to the top — but he can’t control how outsiders view it, has no idea if they feel the same way or have counted him out all together. ESPN can do as many pieces on him as they want, but they can’t guarantee that people are still rooting for him. He’s sure people are talking about him, but he’s steered clear of social media knowing that even if there are nice things about him floating around, it’ll still make him feel worse, crushed by more and more expectations that he’s still not sure he’s going to live up to.

He misses when all that attention would make him feel like he was invincible. 

The biggest thing keeping him sane — despite the 6,000 miles between LA and Turin — is Eddie. They’d seen each other plenty before Buck left, Eddie still coming to the rink every day for PT and light workouts so he could stay in shape while he recovered. It was good, it was _normal_ , even if Eddie wasn’t skating. 

But the night before his flight to Italy, the prospect of being at one of the most important competitions of the season, of his _life_ , without most of his other teammates had hit him hard once again, sucking all the air out of his lungs and making the room spin. 

He called Eddie without even thinking and barely heard him say “Hello?” before he was spilling everything, letting out all the fears and worries he had been trying to keep under control since Bobby told him he was going to the Final. Despite being caught very off guard at 12:30 in the morning, Eddie had listened to it all — _really_ listened, Buck could tell even over the phone. He sympathized with his fears and doubts and didn’t try to downplay them with empty platitudes. And somehow, in those frantic moments, to be heard like that was enough. Enough for the worries in Buck’s head to quiet down and retreat back into the shadows, enough for him to finally be able to breathe. They kept talking afterwards, the smooth timbre of Eddie’s voice making his eyes feel heavier and heavier, until they close and open again to sunlight filtering into his room, his phone on the pillow next to him with a disconnected call and a text that says _You’re going to be amazing. Call me whenever you need me_.

Buck didn’t think he’d take Eddie up on that, but he’s called him every day since he arrived and every time, no matter what time it is, Eddie picks up and listens to him.

On the last day of practice before short programs, dread settles heavy in Buck’s stomach and doesn’t get any lighter as the day wears on. He skates at the practice rink until his fingers feel numb with cold, and works out after even longer, blasting music in his headphones so he’s not alone with his thoughts for too long. He’s exhausted when he gets back to his room, the quiet that’s become so unfamiliar mixing with the dread and weighing down Buck’s entire body, feeling like it’s trying to push him straight down into the earth. Sinking onto the bed, he dials Eddie’s number.

Five rings, and no answer. He tries again. Nothing.

He tosses his phone to the side and sighs. The dread had lightened ever so slightly at the mere prospect of getting to talk to Eddie, but now it’s back in full force. If he lays here for too long, he’s worried he might melt right into the bedspread.

There’s a knock at the door, and takes every ounce of mental and physical strength he has to get him up. He has a brief, delusional thought that maybe the person on the other side of the door is the same one who didn’t answer his phone, but it’s quickly squashed when there’s another knock, followed by a voice that’s definitely not Eddie’s.

“Buck? I know you’re in there, and I can get my hands on a master key if you don’t let me in right now.”

Hen. 

He opens the door quickly, because he thinks she’s bluffing, but there’s also a very real chance that she’s not. He stands at his full height, pushing back against the dread, and plasters on a smile. “Don’t tell me you have notes 12 hours before the competition starts?”

She looks him up and down, looks _through_ him it seems, judging by the way he suddenly wants to curl in on himself, hide whatever it is she’s looking for. She finds it, he guesses, because she nods decisively and pushes into his room. She grabs his still packed skating bag from the foot of the bed and tosses him his jacket as she goes back into the hallway.

“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. “We’re going for a drive.”

It takes a minute for Buck’s brain to catch up with everything, but when it does, he hustles to meet her at the elevators. They make their way to the parking lot next to the hotel, where Hen unlocks the Fiat Bobby had rented for the week to get them around. “Bobby’s cool with you taking the car?”

She shrugs. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt me.”

“So I’m basically being kidnapped right now.”

“You would’ve stayed in your room if you really didn’t want to come.”

He smiles a real smile at that — she knows him too well.

Turin is beautiful at night. The city bustles with energy as people mill around, window shopping and filling up tables outside of cafes despite the early December chill. Christmas decorations have already been hung in windows and strung over rooftops, thousands of lights washing the streets in twinkling colors. Buck lets his eyes relax as he stares out the window, losing himself in the colors that pass by, hoping they’ll burn the heaviness right out of him. They stop outside the Palavela, standing out in its shadowy height among the brightness, decked out in ISU flags in anticipation for the start of competition tomorrow. Hen turns off the car and gets out, walking into the shadows of the arena and almost disappearing before Buck catches up. They make their way to the service entrance at the back of the building, where Hen pulls a key out of her coat pocket and unlocks the door.

Buck’s jaw drops. “I believed you about the hotel, but how did you get a key to _this place_?”

“A lot of people owe me a lot of favors,” she says, leading the way through the back hallways. 

It occurs to Buck that he doesn’t even know _why_ they’re here, didn’t bother to ask, but regardless, he follows her deeper into the belly of the building. Hallways twist and turn as they follow them seemingly at random, until they finally make it to a set of double doors. Hen pushes them open, and Buck has a moment of panic when he sees what’s on the other side.

“Isn’t it bad luck to see the main rink the day before a competition?”

Hen rolls her eyes and walks inside. “You’re not getting _married_ , Buck. And we’re not just here for the ice.” She keeps moving, up into the stands and further up the stairs to the mid-level walkway. It’s a former Olympic venue, so there’s thousands and thousands of seats, and the reminder that in a few short hours, they’ll be filled with people waiting to see Buck thrive or fail spectacularly weighs him down even more, coming down on his shoulders and threatening to make him stumble. He _does_ stumble when he runs into Hen, who’s stopped dead center of the walkway, eyes warm and bright as she nods towards the other side of the rink.

Tears swim into his vision, but not because of shot nerves or worry this time (though those may be contributing to how quickly this is making him emotional).

Fans bring posters to events all the time — beautiful, handmade posters emblazoned with flags and encouraging quotes, showing their love for their favorite skaters and teams. They’re made of cardboard or printed on fabric, but are usually small, hard to see unless you’re watching on TV or very close to the boards. Sometimes, though — with special permission from the venue, usually — they go _big_ , creating huge tarps that get hung up on the banisters surrounding the seats and stay there all week, loudly cheering for their favorites even when they may not be in the stands.

Which is exactly what Buck comes face to face with — two banners hung across part of the middle banister, covering at least 15 seats. One has a picture of him from Autumn Classic, smiling with his gold medal, with “Go Buck Go!” in big block letters over his head, all on a deep red background and surrounded by golden fireworks. The other — the one that really takes his breath away — is a collage of pictures from his programs over the years, some of his more memorable spins and poses emblazoned across the dark blue fabric. His final pose from his short this season, reaching toward the crowd and looking off into the distance, is featured most prominently, with an ornate script next to it that reads “Evan Buckley: Future Olympic Champion”.

He grips the railing a little tighter to keep himself steady, feels Hen’s hand rubbing up and down his back.

“How—” he starts, voice a little raw.

“Bobby and I saw them when we came by earlier to get our credentials. We think someone hung them up after the short dance today so they’d be ready for tomorrow.”

“Wow,” is all Buck can manage. He’s seen his face on plenty of posters, but never like _this_ , never something that he could see from anywhere in the arena, loudly proclaiming that there are fans in his corner, people beyond himself and his sister that see him at the top of the Olympic podium. He knows they're out there, rationally, when he’s not riddled with nerves and self doubt, but still. It’s nice to be reminded. And what a reminder this is.

“I know it’s been a rough week for you,” Hen says quietly, hand still on his back. “But just...take this in. Let it push you through the next few months. They’re _rooting_ for you, Buck. We all are. You’ve got to keep rooting for yourself too."

As usual, she’s right — Buck went into this season as his own biggest fan, with one goal in mind that felt like it had been slipping farther and farther away with every fall and every less than perfect score. That drive to win gold becoming more and more desperate as the weeks wore on — like if he didn’t get back to where he should be, where he _needed_ to be, he might not survive. But he has people — his team, his _family_ , and fans like this — who are still envisioning that success for him, who believe in him no matter what. Who will still be in his corner even if he doesn’t make it to the top. Who he wants to prove _right_ for believing in him.

Hen pats his back one last time and heads back down the stairs. Buck lingers a little longer, taking in every detail of the banners that he can, since he won’t be able to appreciate them properly tomorrow. He sneaks a few pictures on his phone, quickly shooting them off to Maddie and Eddie. It doesn’t feel like bragging — they’re at the very top of the list of people that have constantly pulled him up when he falls down the hardest. He knows they’ll appreciate this for him, just like Hen did. They’ll understand how much this means to him.

As he follows Hen’s path down the stairs, the heaviness he had convinced himself was etched into his bones feels like it stays behind, making it easier to breathe, easier to _be_.

Hen’s next to the boards holding his skates out to him. “You’ve got like 30 minutes — skate it out. I’ll stand watch by the door.” He takes them and sets them on the bench before enveloping her in a hug, rocking back and forth as she laughs into his shoulder. She ruffles his hair and pats his cheek before going to her post.

He feels at peace on the ice, finally. The cold isn’t harsh, it’s invigorating. The fluorescent lights aren’t too bright, they’re comforting, lighting up the grooves and divots of the ice, showing all the paths Buck can follow. A couple of laps gets his blood pumping, roaring in his ears and blocking out everything else. He starts with some easy steps — rockers and three turns, over and over like he did in skating lessons when he was a kid, losing himself in the repetition. When he feels good, _really_ good, he goes for a quad flip, confidence flowing into every stroke as he gets in position. He takes off, and he feels light again — _right_ again — like he’s flying, not falling, not sinking.

Figuratively and literally rising.

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s two missed calls from Eddie when he gets back to his room, and still riding the high of his good mood, he FaceTimes him. 

“Wow, I really missed that smile,” Eddie says when the call connects, and Buck rolls his eyes, not even bothering to hide the blush he can feel warm his cheeks. Eddie must have just gotten back from PT — his hair is falling in swoops over his forehead, damp with sweat, his tank top sticking to what little Buck can see of his chest. His blush gets a couple of shades darker, he’s sure, as he tries not to let his eyes linger anywhere for too long.

Buck flops onto the bed on his back, holding his phone in front of his face. “I had a pretty good night,” he says with feigned nonchalance.

“Seeing banners of your giant face already proclaiming you the next gold medalist will do that to you.” Buck laughs and Eddie laughs with him, the sound like pure happiness, burning out the very last of the dread that had been following him since he arrived. It stops quickly when Eddie sits down on his couch and hisses, wincing as he shuffles to get comfortable. 

“Rough day with Lena?” He saw her every day for two months straight once upon a time, he knows how hard she can push.

“Rough couple of days.”

“Are you feeling better, at least? Do the doctors think it’s healing okay?”

“I have a check-up tomorrow, but it’s fine. Just sore.” He finally settles but he still looks like he’s in pain. Buck wants to press, wants to know every detail of his last few days — what exercises he’s done, when the pain really got worse, if he’s resting enough. But this isn’t his injury, and everyone heals differently. And he trusts Eddie, trusts him to know how to take care of himself like he promised he would.

“Anyway,” Eddie says lightly, clearly trying to change the subject. Buck lets him. “I’m sure this good night will make for a good day tomorrow, too. You feel ready?”

“I do,” Buck answers. He’s pleasantly surprised to find that he actually means it. 

“Good. I know you’ll be great. And you’ll have my sleep deprived text commentary to look forward to when you finish.”

Buck winces. “I’m not gonna be skating until like 4AM your time, you really don’t—”

“I really do. I really _want_ to. And there’s not a whole lot you can do to stop me.” Eddie flashes his crowd-charming smile and Buck feels like he’s melting into the mattress again. He tries for a snappy comeback, anything to keep Eddie talking, but he cuts himself off with a yawn, the exhaustion from the week seeming to catch up with him all at once.

Eddie’s smile gets a little softer. “Go to sleep, Buck. I’m gonna take a nap too so I make sure I wake up on time.”

“Okay, okay. Goodnight Eds.”

“Goodnight. Knock ‘em dead tomorrow.”

After they hang up, Buck gives himself a minute, just a minute, to really bask in that, in Eddie’s active support of him from halfway across the world. It’s one thing to have your teammates watch your programs from the stands, but to find competitions on TV, if they’re being shown at all? To figure out time zones and wake up at ungodly hours just to watch you skate live? It may not seem like much, but it’s _everything_ to Buck. He’s only gotten this kind of commitment from one other person in his life — even his parents stopped keeping up once he started competing abroad more. And it’s different with Maddie — they’ve been on this road together for almost two decades, so intertwined with each other’s successes and failures that they’re hard to differentiate sometimes. Sure, Eddie’s been a part of his life for years now too, but as competition, an obstacle he kept trying and failing to overcome. It’s different now that they’re...whatever they are. Friends. Almost something else. 

For the second time tonight, Buck’s reminded of how grateful he is to have another solid, supportive presence in his corner. The last lingering bits of heaviness and loneliness evaporate from within him, and he _knows_ this weekend will be good for him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Second place.

Second place is fine. Second place is _great_ , actually. Second place is enough to show the USFSA that he’s still a contender, that he can still keep up with the best of the best despite a rocky first half of the season.

But second place is not first place. Even if it’s only six points away.

Overall, Buck _is_ happy with his performance. He was clean on his step sequences, attacked every jump, and didn’t fall once. And six points behind the skater from Japan that everyone considers Eddie’s biggest international rival, his biggest threat against his potential Olympic gold, would make most other people ecstatic.

He’s not most other people, though. This past week has reignited the fire in his belly and it’s burning brighter than it has in a while. The medal ceremony, the interviews, the gala, everything flashes by because all he can think about is getting back to work, changing transitions and tweaking spins until even the smallest gap between him and any other skater is erased. Until he knows his programs are undoubtedly gold medal worthy.

It’s refreshing — a _relief_ — to be back in this headspace, being pushed forward by obstacles and less-than-perfection instead of dragged into spiraling sadness.

He almost loses it a couple of times, especially when he decides to take an innocent peek at Twitter to see what fans had to say about the Final, the words “overscored” and “inconsistent” swimming in front of him until they don’t mean anything anymore, just leave doubt lingering, trying to find the home in Buck’s brain that it had just vacated. In those moments, he goes back to his messages and rereads the live texts he’d gotten all weekend, and one in particular that makes his heart skip two beats every time he sees it: 

**[from: Eddie]** I think you make everyone fall a little bit in love with you every time you skate

Eddie sent it in the middle of his free skate, in the middle of dozens of other compliments and criticism of other skaters, and Buck’s sure he was half awake when he sent it, but it fills him with something he doesn’t quite have a name for. Something that makes all of the harsh words and doubts disappear, because none of those matter when Eddie is here telling him that he’s _good_ , that he _deserves_ all of his scores and praises. That he’s loved, no matter how often he may forget.

Another fire is burning in him, a little above the one in his gut, but it’s pushing him just as hard to prove his worth. 

~~~~~~~~~

There’s four weeks left until Nationals, and Eddie still isn’t better. 

Buck can tell he’s getting frustrated too — the tension in his shoulders gets tighter and tighter, the set of his mouth harder and harder each day he comes to the rink still wearing his air cast, only able to work in the gym and with Lena, far away from the ice and the excited chatter of preparing for the second half of the season. Buck tries to be there, a shoulder to lean on, someone to listen, but he also knows how Eddie operates — he’ll slap on a smile and say he’s fine until he’s _really_ not, until he cracks from the inside out and finally explodes with everything he’s been holding in so he keeps up this air of perfection he’s made for himself. Buck used to think it was annoying, that perfect facade, but now he knows it’s more defensive than anything, Eddie just trying to protect himself from the world and maybe _from_ himself.

Buck doesn’t take it personally anymore, and he’s going to do his damned best to be there to keep the cracks from spreading.

It’s after 10pm when he walks into the gym, still breathing heavily from practice, his muscles burning from overuse and the need to be stretched. He was certain he was alone, so he just about jumps out of his skin when he sees someone lying on the padded floor in front of the mirrors. When he gets closer, his blood runs cold for an entirely different reason.

It’s Eddie.

Buck’s first thought is to call for an ambulance, because why else would Eddie be lying on the floor if he hadn’t hurt himself again? But as he gets closer still, Buck thinks this might be intentional. He’s on his back, headphones on, eyes closed, rhythmically tapping his hands to whatever song he’s listening to on his stomach. As Buck's shadow passes over his face, he opens his eyes and blinks at him for a minute before giving a half-hearted smile and closing his eyes again. He looks sadder, somehow, than he has in the past weeks, dark circles under his eyes and none of the golden glow that seems to follow him wherever he goes (though that may be coming just from Buck’s own imagination anyway).

Buck’s not really sure what to do here, how to fix whatever it is that’s making Eddie feel so bad.

So he lays down right next to him and waits.

The headphones come off after 10 minutes, and Eddie doesn’t open his eyes for another five. When he does, he looks over to Buck, and rather than something supportive or sweet or literally anything else, he says the first dumb thing that comes to his head:

“Are we meditating?”

But he gets an actual smile out of it from Eddie, so he takes it as a win. 

Eddie scrubs his hands over his face. “Trying to, I think.” He turns onto his side, facing Buck, and Buck turns to mirror him. He can tell Eddie is searching for his words, the right phrasing to get his point across, and he’s willing to wait as long as he needs to for Eddie to share. 

Finally, he takes a long, steadying breath. “My doctor said I might not be able to skate until the end of January, which means I might miss Nats, which means I might not—” he gestures vaguely at that, like he expects Buck to know what his silence means. Buck knows _exactly_ what he means, and it makes him ache for Eddie, makes him reach out and squeeze his wrist when his eyes start to shine, thumb tracing over his pulse point trying to soothe him. “I’ve worked my ass off for weeks now to get better, and it still might not be good enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says quietly. “I know it sucks. More than anything.”

Eddie goes quiet again, eyes drifting to where Buck is still holding his wrist. He pulls away for just a second before slotting their fingers together properly and gently squeezing. Like always, Buck marvels at how right it feels, to be holding Eddie’s hand.

“Did you know they’ve been saying I’m the favorite to win gold for three years now? Not to brag, but—” he says quickly, eyes wide. Buck chuckles because he knows — knows _now_ — that Eddie doesn’t have an arrogant bone in his body. He squeezes his hand back and waits for him to keep going. “It’s all I can think about. Every time I fuck up a level or finish off podium, it just _stays_ with me, makes me feel like I’m about to crash and burn and _everyone_ is going to be disappointed in me because I’m not actually as good as they think.” Eddie’s trembling, squeezing his hand tighter to try and stop it. “Maybe they’re right. Maybe I tricked everyone into believing in me, and this stupid busted ankle is—”

“Hey, hey, no,” Buck says, pulling them up to sitting and cupping Eddie’s face in his hands as his tears threaten to spill over, slipping through the cracks. “You don’t _deserve_ this, Eddie, no one deserves to be injured. Believe me, I know what it’s like to put all of your worth into this, and I _still_ do it, but...you’re worth so much more than just your skating. To the fans, to the team. To me.” Eddie’s eyes drift away from his, trying to find an escape, but Buck holds firm until they drift back. “You _are_ good. Not just a good skater, but a good person. You’ll always have that, gold medals or not. And if no one else believes in you, _I_ do.”

Eddie stares at him, looking dumbstruck, and he’s quiet for so long that Buck worries he went too far, bared himself a little too much. He’s about to backtrack, save both of them whatever awkwardness might come, but Eddie surges forward before he can and kisses him so fiercely he swears the earth stands still.

He pushes away just as quickly, eyes wide in panic. “Shit, Buck, I’m sorry, I know we—” but Buck cuts him off, kissing him slow and deep, hands tangling into Eddie’s hair trying to pull him as close as possible. Eddie’s _everywhere_ , his taste, his smell, his touch, and when he feels Eddie’s smile against his mouth, a smile that _he_ put there, he feels like flying.

It finally clicks for Buck that he doesn’t have to — doesn’t _want_ to — compartmentalize his life so much anymore. Skating and Eddie make him happier than pretty much anything. Why shouldn’t he have both?

They break apart slowly and rest their foreheads together. Buck ended up in Eddie’s lap at some point, and from here he can’t see anything _but_ Eddie, gets lost in the curve of his cheekbones and the pout of his lips, and mentally smacks himself for thinking it was really better not having all of this. Eddie is in his corner, always, and he wants to be in Eddie’s too. Wants him to _know_ he’s there, to remember even at his lowest points that he’s not alone, ever.

Eddie finally opens his eyes and smiles at Buck, soft but absolutely breathtaking. He squeezes his arms a little tighter around Buck’s waist, and Buck is more than happy to get as close as he can, would crawl into Eddie’s chest and stay there forever if he could.

“What are you thinking?” Eddie asks quietly.

Buck’s thinking a _lot_ of things, or at least he was, but now that he’s focused on honey brown eyes so full of affection he could drown in them, his only real thought is _Eddie Eddie Eddie_.

“I think we’re stupid,” he says after a minute, and Eddie’s laugh echos around the empty gym.

“ _We’re_ stupid?”

“Okay, _I’m_ stupid. But I think I want to fix that.”

“Oh really?”

“I think I want to be here for you, for everything.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I think I want to remind you how amazing you are whenever I can.”

“Buck—”

“I think I want to _convince_ you of how incredible you are whenever you stop believing it.”

Eddie’s eyes are shining again, but his smile could also put the sun to shame.

“And I think I really, _really_ want to keep kissing you.”

Eddie shakes his head, smile getting bigger and somehow pulling Buck even closer. “I think we can make that happen,” he whispers. 

He kisses him again, and Buck is soaring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they're still idiots but at least they're idiots together now!! and now there's more room for skating drama 😈😈
> 
> come survive the hiatus with me on [tumblr](https://tylerhunklin.tumblr.com/)!!


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